He didn't wake up, on this morning, 26 years ago.
26 years ago! That's more than half of my lifetime now, but on a beautiful morning like this, when I can almost hear his voice saying everyday things as I visualise him here in my house, it could have been yesterday. I have always imagined what it would have been like to have him come here to visit. In my heart this has always been his house. Though if he had not left us, I would never have been able to build it, so, somehow, it is as if he is this house. It is built on his blood, sweat and tears, on his dreams and aspirations, and on his hope and love for us children. I know my father loved me dearly because he told me so. Not everyday or in casual conversation but one night when he'd had too much to drink, and on those nights when I was twelve years old and terrified of the dark, when he came and slept in my room on the dreadfully uncomfortable trundle bed. I will never forget that he did that for me, it meant the world.
So, Dad, I just want you to know that I still miss you dreadfully, I still wish you could come fishing with us, play euchre (WD has just learned and loves it), sit on the deck having a cool ale in the afternoon, all of the things that we used to do, but here, in this beautiful house that 'you built'.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Monday, March 11, 2013
I'm home and it's magic.
I can't believe how beautiful it is here. It isn't that I didn't realise before but now, being back here after never expecting to be, this place has a whole new beauty for me.
In many ways I am feeling the enormous weight of failure. Just under four years ago, we followed our dreams and convinced the bank to lend us enough money to buy our acreage retreat. It was lovely out there and I had a fantastic time with my ducklings, my chooks, my veggie garden, my huge playground of trees and waterfall, native birds and planting loads of trees. Financially though things were not so great. Maybe we were dreaming the whole time, that we could somehow increase our loan and still cope with the repayments? Perhaps if it hadn't rained so much, and that and the GFC hadn't affected tourism so much, or perhaps if I was smarter, or better, cleverer, or worked harder?
Three months ago we made the decision that we would rent out our little country cottage, move back here, tidy the house up and repair it where necessary and then put it up for sale. It was a wise plan. I say 'was' because now that I am here I simply never want to leave, ever!
From where I am sitting right now at our dining room table, the ocean is glimmering almost lilac as it stretches out before me I feel almost as if I could skim right over it all the way to Chile. The trees around the house have grown a lot and the view is different than it used to be, but I feel blessed being hugged by this greenery. It's beauty simply takes my breath away. The neighbours are closer, but not so close that I feel too discomforted. Aside from the creep down the hill, the people next door make me feel part of a community, my community.
I hadn't thought I would be lucky enough to live here again but I thought I was okay about that. I was sure I was okay about that, but now it seems that perhaps I never owned this house, the truth is that it owns me. The lines of this house are so deeply ingrained into my soul that I feel almost as if they are a part of me. It was about twenty-four years ago now, that I first drew this house on the piece of graph paper. I didn't know then the power of that small pencil, that it could somehow bring this beautiful spot into existence. A magic pencil perhaps?
In many ways I am feeling the enormous weight of failure. Just under four years ago, we followed our dreams and convinced the bank to lend us enough money to buy our acreage retreat. It was lovely out there and I had a fantastic time with my ducklings, my chooks, my veggie garden, my huge playground of trees and waterfall, native birds and planting loads of trees. Financially though things were not so great. Maybe we were dreaming the whole time, that we could somehow increase our loan and still cope with the repayments? Perhaps if it hadn't rained so much, and that and the GFC hadn't affected tourism so much, or perhaps if I was smarter, or better, cleverer, or worked harder?
Three months ago we made the decision that we would rent out our little country cottage, move back here, tidy the house up and repair it where necessary and then put it up for sale. It was a wise plan. I say 'was' because now that I am here I simply never want to leave, ever!
From where I am sitting right now at our dining room table, the ocean is glimmering almost lilac as it stretches out before me I feel almost as if I could skim right over it all the way to Chile. The trees around the house have grown a lot and the view is different than it used to be, but I feel blessed being hugged by this greenery. It's beauty simply takes my breath away. The neighbours are closer, but not so close that I feel too discomforted. Aside from the creep down the hill, the people next door make me feel part of a community, my community.
I hadn't thought I would be lucky enough to live here again but I thought I was okay about that. I was sure I was okay about that, but now it seems that perhaps I never owned this house, the truth is that it owns me. The lines of this house are so deeply ingrained into my soul that I feel almost as if they are a part of me. It was about twenty-four years ago now, that I first drew this house on the piece of graph paper. I didn't know then the power of that small pencil, that it could somehow bring this beautiful spot into existence. A magic pencil perhaps?
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