Houses and hearts

I am sitting here, procrastinating. I have laundry to do and need to start stripping hideously ugly wallpaper border from almost every single wall of this house. I am glad to finally have a bunch of paint to start transforming this house that once belonged to another family into our home.



This house. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I walked in, it felt like home. The neighborhood isn’t the best, but it’s not terrible, either. But the house itself…when I stepped in, after it had sat empty for many months, it felt…right…like it could be my home. It felt solid and dependable. Yeah, sure, it needs a little work. But I am resourceful, have skills, and power tools. The only thing lacking the past few months has been money to put into it, but I have been able to hit a good deal here and there, slowly, slowly doing small things.



Paint is easy. And I got such a great deal on it! I can hardly believe my good fortune. I am anxious to start painting, but before that happens, there is always prep work. I wish that part could do itself and let me get on with the business of just getting the new colors on the walls. And I know that once I get started in just a bit, I will find comfort and pleasure in stripping down the old paper and probably won’t want to stop to even make dinner.



I have been very lost in my thoughts today and working on the house always helps me to think. It’s calming, kind of like gardening. There is something about working with my hands that settles me. There are so many possibilities, so many unknowns in the next few months. And it’s hard for me, someone who likes to have a plan. Needs to have a plan. Or multiple backup plans, if things are unclear. But that can’t even happen at this point. I am trying to just let it all go and just live. Most days, I do just fine. I am making progress in learning to just live in the moment. But it doesn’t come naturally just yet.



This stupid weekend is getting to me a little. It’s just a day. I know it’s just a day. But, dammit, I had seriously hoped when all of this started over nine months ago that we would be together this weekend. And it won’t, can’t happen. I understand it. I accept it. But it does make me little bit sad. I keep repeating “it’s just another day” over and over. And I know that it is. But…sigh.



I have no doubt that I am loved and in a way beyond anything I could have ever hoped or imagined. And that I love this man just as deeply and intensely. I thought this was stuff that people just made up, for books and movies. That it didn’t actually exist. I love his mind and how he can make me think. How he knows a lot about things that I have never thought about learning. That he shares all of this with me and in a way that doesn’t make me feel inferior at all. I love his kindness, to me, his kids, my kids, and anyone around him. I love his patience and his understanding. I love how he looks at me with such tenderness. That he holds my hand. That we talk and talk and talk, about anything from news to plans for this house to our deepest secrets and dreams. That he writes poems, about so many things, not just me…though those melt my heart. I love that we feel secure enough with each other to be honest and to be vulnerable. I have never trusted another person the way I trust him. He is on my mind and in my heart every moment of the day, even as I am going about the rest of my life. Not intrusively, just there, solid, secure, loving.



I am OK with not being geographically nearer on most days because so much of the pleasure of being with him is derived from our talks. The mental, emotional, and spiritual connection is just as wonderful from a distance. Yes, there are days I wish he were closer so I could see those beautiful eyes or curl up next to him, because his psychical presence is so comforting. And I get a serious case of butterflies when I look at him, whether it’s when he first arrives here for a visit, when he walks through the door after being outside, or when I roll over in the morning and marvel at the fact he is there next to me. Right there. I know that there will finally be a time when he will be here more, or I there, and I look forward to that. Some days, out of the blue, I am overwhelmed with missing him and absolutely long for that day to get here. Others, I am content to wait patiently, knowing it will come. Not that it might, but that it will. Because I believe in him and I trust him and I love him.



I guess this waiting part, the hard part, is like the prep work for the house. I don’t necessarily want to do it, but it’s part of the process. And, if I take the time to do it right, the end result will only be that much better in the end.