One of my tutors at massage school likes to include slides in her presentations that are pictures of soothing scenes, to remind us to breathe during class. As I sit here in the corner of Panera Bread, sipping on an iced tea, I have finally found a suitable pause in life, where I am reminded to breathe.
What a whirlwind it has been. Cowboy and I have moved into our new home, and I can finally spout off about how glorious it is. We are no longer on a busy corner – we are tucked away down a dead end street. The hills roll up behind the house, so our tiny little home feels safely nestled into the land. I can look out on our fields and garden from almost every window in the house. There are songbirds everywhere (while Sir Richard is corralled in the house, at least). When the sun was out over the weekend, and I could stand in the middle of the drive and feel totally at peace, I almost made a vow never to leave the place again.
I underestimated what home really meant. While we were renting, I pinned my sense of home on who I was with – whether living with friends in London and Brighton, or living with my parents, or finally moving in with Cowboy, and wherever he laid his hat was our home. I had a collection of items that came with me everywhere that I lived, and if I had those few things around me, I could make myself feel at home just about anywhere.
Then we signed the papers at the title company. Then we were given the keys. Then I stepped in though the old door into the tiny kitchen, and looked at it all. I felt the walls embrace me. I felt the floor press into my feet, lifting me up. I felt the roof folding over our heads, protecting us. That’s a lot of new age hokeyness for a British person to admit to. That’s a lot of hokey woowoo. But this is my Home now.
The house is old, dating back to the 1920s. (This is where everybody in Britain laughs, because that isn’t an old building. Heck, I grew up in a Victorian house that wasn’t even that old by some standards, and outdates this house by some 50 years. The village church where my parents live is from 10something. 1920s is laughable.) In America, this is an old house. It needs some care and time spent on it. The windows and doors need sanding and repainting. There are a few leaks here and there. The lovely thing is that I don’t mind that this work needs doing. I am excited to spend time with this house, and to put my touch and energy into it. The back seat of my car is currently hosting several gallons of paint, ready to slap on the walls. I can finally unleash all of the tricks that I pretend I have learned from watching the home improvement channel.
One of the unexpected effects of finally being Home was how much better I sleep now. I wake up feeling truly rested and ready for the day. This is handy, given how much work I have to do over the next week. I will need every ounce of strength and energy that I have.
I’ll be sharing some of my home improvement projects here!