roses
“One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon-instead of enjoying the roses blooming outside our windows today.” (dale carnegie)
two years ago, we moved into our house. we were broken, grieving, lost trying desperately to be hopeful about a future that felt like it had been tossed in the air and shattered on the ground. we moved into a house that wouldn’t hear the laughing cries of our baby boys, with grass that wouldn’t feel their little toes and grasping fingers. we bought a small charming house that was built in 1945 complete with coved ceilings, original sash windows and fir doors and trim and pulled up the ugly green gold rug to reveal lovely maple hardwood floors. we bought a yard that was sorely neglected and filled with weeds and dying grass. our house had been a rental for some twenty years and while the bones were strong and hearty, the neglect showed on her tired face. when i walked in the door, i knew it was the house.
we had flirted with a big old victorian number, two stories and a balcony and room enough for the two of us, a teenager and babies while still giving me an art room / study and a big ol’ veranda to while around the lemonade hours. but in the end, it was this tiny little scrapper of a house which sang to my heart from the moment i entered the little entry way and opened the french door into the living room. it looked battered and bruised and in need of love. much like me. small but open and expansive and just the right size for the two of us and a teenage boy as it turns out.
that summer that we moved in proved a flurry of activity, a mad dash to clean and adjust to our new home, oh my gosh, we had a home. we ripped up carpets, tore down blinds and painted walls bright yellows, greens and blues, with a dash of pink and a blackboard wall. we surveyed our yard and realized that it was out of control and worked at weeding and mowing and attempted to bring our lawn back to life. we got married in our living room, threw an all day, all night party filled with people and music and merry laughter and then we collapsed into ourselves and finally allowed the depression to hit and the grief to leave us comforted in the warmth of bright yellow care.
Its been two years.
The kitchen cupboards still aren’t painted the pretty light blue paint that sits off to the side of the dishwasher and the ceiling needs patched and painted where we put in the beautiful new hanging kitchen light. We have not redone the wood floors like we thought we would have and the trim on the house waits for us this august to sand and paint it a pretty green. But the occupants no longer lay about broken and wounded and much is left in the house for another day as laughter rings out and artwork is hung and basketballs roll across the wooden floor as a bike helmet clatters down and swimsuits soaked in chlorine hang from windows ledge. Sunlight dances in revealing dusty corners smile. And we spend more time outside in the garden poking and prodding the land into something magical.
I had no idea that I would even like gardening but I find myself losing hours in the sunlight as I plant and weed and water and plan. Last summer, we bought a rose bush, not knowing whether it would live or die. We forgot to cover it in the fall as the snow came before we knew what was happening and yet this spring, I was out with clippers pruning a bush that had doubled in size and was sprouting greenery everywhere. The rose bush not only lived, it flourished and this year we added another one to the mix and I can’t wait to see what it does next year. We are eating out of our vegetable garden and our perennials are blooming and budding and the bees are plentiful and the birds chirp and a butterfly landed on my arm yesterday. I am living a dream filled with laughter and joy enjoying the roses that bloom outside my window.
I am home.
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