Admiring

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Beckon

The hubster was out of town last week, arriving home late Friday. Lucky man missed the raucous madness and gawped come the light of morning at all that had been done.

We spent the weekend catching up, with each other, with sleep, with lawn (ahem, dandelion) mowing, with errands, with food, with cuddles and quiet and loud-ass traffic. Life, basically. Good, sweet, delicious.

And this morning, these blossoms beckoned from across the street.

Nothing much and everything. All at once.

Happy Monday!

 

Nighttime

Nighttime walking, positively giddy with neon and gliding geese. Quiet and brisk, my hat pulled down over my ears, fingers laced with the hubster’s. Everything I don’t need to see is hidden, forgotten, mostly, save my worries and woes, which, thankfully, are few at the moment. Goodness, yes.

Our little brick house is one step closer to reality. We had inspections yesterday, by fine and thoroughly kind professionals and were grateful for good news and even excitement from our structural engineer (“One quarter inch of settling in sixty years – incredible!”) and celebrated with high-fives and me gasping, “I could hug you!”

So now, my head is full up with ideas I can rightly execute and thinking about contractors, plumbers, tilers, cabinet installers. Someone who will repair and sand the neglected floors. Another who builds fences, so I can spin like a dervish in the back yard with only the hubster and Google satellites to witness it. Excitement. Cabinet fronts! New windows! Light fixtures – sixteen on their way! This is happening, and we are not going to eke it out like Portland. Sixteen years of projects and paint will be done in rapid HGTV style, with us camped out in the basement, using a pink toilet and a sink short enough for elementary schoolers to delight in the oh-my-goodness-I-don’t-need-a-stool wonderment of it all.

And it was SEVENTY degrees outside when I wrote this. In February. Oh, Colorado!

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The truth is humbling, terrifying, and often exhilarating. It blows the doors off the hinges and fills the world with fresh air.

Augusten Burroughs

 

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The promise of early daylight…

A slow amble with friends through the Phipps twinkle lights. Singing. Sparkling conversation. Laughter. The air heady with paperwhites and orchids redolent of Christmas itself. Magic!

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