March. In like a lion. And somehow - gone.
Much has happened. We've moved. I've personally moved, re-moved, opened, emptied, torn down, and composted a mountain of boxes. The pup is (mostly) potty-trained, the kids are catching pop flies, and we've gone from snow to 80 in a matter of moments.
The move itself? There is nothing good to be said about the move. Kirk was out of town, my parents came to help, and the movers were 3 hours late and a guy short. But somehow, the truck was loaded, kids fed, puppy managed. While leading the caravan to the new house - for just one fantastical moment, I imagined telling the movers to take the truck and go. Don't unload. Don't unpack. Let me live lightly - so lightly - a breeze could easily free me.
But no. 26 feet of stuff stakes me solidly to this earth. Boxes of books, rusty chainsaws, wedding gown, family photos. I'm not going anywhere easily.
Still. The house makes my tethering tolerable. It may never be finished. The loft has no access, cabinets are door-less, and the library wall exists only in my imagination. A hundred tiny details need attending. Daily I battle the plaster and saw dust, and daily, it is replenished.
It doesn't matter. It's lovely. I wanted a house that blurs the line between inside and out. This house erases it. On these beautiful spring afternoons the house opens wide and we spill across the threshold. In, out, in, out, in? Out? Kids, puppy, parents. The house accommodates.
The front patio is quiet, contemplative. The puppy sits at the corner and watches the world spin by(our road, with its windy curves and gentle
In back -- the party patio. Clattering games of cops and robbers - on scooter and fusion - take place here. Swoosh, crash. Knees are scraped, toes will be broken. Bring it. Life, lived.
The lovely long evenings also entice. The woodpeckers drum the refrain, and the frogs join in. Come outside, come outside. Dinner and dishes can wait. We may all be a little lacking in sleep, but we're overflowing with fresh air and sunshine.
But it is the morning I love the most. It is so still. No cars, no neighbors, no lawnmowers. I love to take my coffee, crack the door to hear the birdsong, and curl into a chair.
And for a moment, I too am still.