|Jim & Sally celebrating Jim's surprise 60th birthday party on our front porch|
|Our New Home|
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Friday, October 19, 2012
The next morning we were supposed to begin our move.
I will spare you the details.
Let's just say we had the move from the hot place.
Our movers were less than competent.
It took them three days to complete the task.
At 9:30 p.m. on Sunday, the third day of this move, I was so fried mentally, emotionally and physically, I left our new home, and my credit card to pay the movers, in the hands of my competent oldest daughter by marriage, Jim's daughter Thia, and went to the hotel to go to bed.
She, her husband, and her son stayed at the new house waiting for the last load of stuff to come from Pueblo. Jim spent the night in Pueblo and didn't get to our new home until 5:00 p.m. the next day.
Thia held the mover's feet to the fire until all boxes were appropriately placed in the house and the job was completed sufficiently.
I owe her big time!
That same evening, when we were in the throes of the move, my youngest daughter by marriage, Jim's daughter Trinette, and her husband Nathan and I went out to sit on our new deck for a moment.
The evening air was warm.
There was a slight breeze in the aspen trees surrounding our deck.
I looked out on the beautiful meadow behind us.
I looked west to the mountains so close it seemed I could touch them.
I felt as if I were at a resort in Vail or some other wonderful place in Colorado.
I could not believe I was on the deck of my new home.
In that moment, I knew this place would be a place of
and a place that would truly be
The next day, October 22, was my husband's birthday.
I didn't have time to give him a card.
I didn't even have time to wish him happy birthday on Facebook.
He was Pueblo supervising the cleaning of our house we had sold and vacated.
I was in Colorado Springs trying to make sense out of the placement of boxes all over the house.
We had guests coming at 6:00 to celebrate his birthday.
Yes, I'm crazy like that.
I have a party with guests on the first night I move into a house!
Finally, at 5:00 my dear husband, the birthday boy, arrived home with Boston who had been kenneled for five days while we made the move.
I captured his birthday portrait on our back deck next to the door that goes to our bedroom.
At 6:00 our guests arrived.
Thanks to Thia and Brad, my husband had cake and ice cream for his birthday party.
His day and our first evening in our home was celebrated by two of his daughters and their husbands, some of his grandchildren, my cousin, and our realtor.
It is good to live by family again.
|Happy Birthday, dear Jim.|
He celebrated by moving into our new home.
Since that time, we have tried not to be overwhelmed.
Although, I must confess, at times, many times, I've felt like just sitting down and crying.
I still have boxes everywhere.
The kitchen is finally unpacked and everything is in place.
I have the bathroom set up and organized.
The closet is getting there.
Thanks to my sister, my dining room is unpacked and china is sitting all over the table.
Thanks to a dear friend of Jim's, Rob, pictures are hung and other tasks we could not do are done.
My sister Carol has been a lifesaver.
We've had a lot of fun playing house, arranging furniture and moving things around.
Tonight, I am sitting in our guest room. It is in shambles.
My desk is not functional. It is still covered with boxes.
The family room looks like something from an episode from the hoarders.
So does the garage.
So does the storage room.
So does the other guest room.
I don't know when I will dig out.
I am trying to take it one box at a time.
I am trying not to obsess over my need for order.
We are both a bit homesick.
Jim was terribly homesick on Sunday.
Today, I am.
"Do you feel like this is home yet?" I asked Jim after dinner.
"No, not yet. How about you?" was his reply.
"No. Not yet."
Home where is it?
At times, I step outside and I feel the air, look at the mountains, and am filled with great peace because
I am home.
I drive the familiar streets of my hometown.
I am home.
I am happy.
I also am in a state of unsettledness.
I'm not home yet.
I miss my old home.
The sermon I heard on Sunday summed it up.
I sat next to my sister and listened to the words of the pastor and listened to the familiar voice of my sister singing.
It made me realize we all have a longing for home.
This place will never be my home.
I hope to make this temporary earthly home a place of peace, a sanctuary from the hustle and bustle we faced for so many years.
It is good to be in a place where old memories of loss do not linger.
It is good to be starting over.
I have new energy and new interest in making this house a home we will enjoy.
We are located in a bucolic setting.
I am amazed at the beauty that surrounds me.
I have been greatly blessed with this new place of residence.
I also know that my longing for home will not be satisfied on this earth.
These places where we live are only temporary.
They hold great meaning,
but they are not our final destination.
Yesterday, on Thursday, feeling especially good mentally and physically, soon after pouring my cup of coffee, I heard Lionel Richie singing on the Today Show. I couldn't stop myself. I was dancing around the kitchen and family room, coffee cup in hand to "Oh what a feeling, we're dancing on the ceiling." "This is a great way to start the day," I thought. I even posted on Facebook that I was starting my Friday off right by dancing to Lionel Richie while I drank my first cup of coffee. Then, I took my medicines and saw the pill container said it was Thursday. Then, my daughter-in-law posted on Facebook, "Wait, isn't it Thursday." Yes, it was Thursday, but I am retired. It is hard to know what day it is. It felt like a Friday to me.
Today, Friday, the 17th, the man and I both slept in. The dog didn't wake up my hubby, so we were able to sleep until we were both awake. In fact, I think I woke up first. That is a rarity. "Oh well, it is a Saturday, so we can justify sleeping in," I thought upon awakening. But, when I read the paper, I realized it was not Saturday, it was Friday. I've been confused on what day it is for two days. Every day in retirement feels like Friday or Saturday.
I usually fix big breakfasts on the weekend. Of course, today was not the weekend, but I thought it was. We had gotten up late, so it really felt like Saturday. Before breakfast I slipped out to the garden to see what was ripe. I picked some cherry tomatoes, snipped some chives, got some Pueblo peppers out of the freezer and made us a frittata. I've never made a frittata before. It was quite yummy. We also had fresh raspberries and blueberries in Greek yogurt. This was really a Saturday or Sunday breakfast.
After breakfast, I again slipped outside. It was so nice and cool outside. I sat on the deck and thought of how much I love this house. While we were both working at demanding jobs, I dreamed of just enjoying my house and yard after I retired. Today, as I sat out on the back deck, I looked over to one of my favorite sights, my back rose garden, the one I planted the year I retired. I call it my Peace Garden.
This summer has been a hot one. I thought these roses would never come out of it in late June and throughout July when they looked done for, but I kept up with the feeding routine, I made sure they were watered, and I deadheaded every few days, although all through July I had few blooms, and the few blooms I had dried up on the stems. Now, the weather is cooling and we've had some rain. The roses are having what I call a second blooming. Isn't that what retirement is all about? A second blooming. The second blooming is almost the best. The colors are richer, deeper, and the blossoms are fuller when roses bloom in late summer and early fall. It is true, "Gardening is a form of autobiography," I think as I look at the roses.
My eye catches one rose bud on the Peace Rose. It is so stately. I venture down the steps into the garden to take a closer look at this particular rose. I capture it with my iPhone camera.
I haven't seen quite as much pink on the edges of these roses until now. The cool weather is allowing the pinks to show their hues. This rose, the Peace Rose, was planted in 2006 when I retired. It was the first rose in the garden. It was selected because it is one of my favorite roses. Introduced by in the United States in 1945, the year of my birth, it was given to delegates of the first meeting of the United Nations with a note that read, We hope the 'Peace' rose will influence men's thoughts for everlasting world peace.
I really do love this rose. It is the one I usually choose to place in a vase in front of my father's portrait when I have them in bloom. I do this to honor my father and his time of service in the war, and to remember the time when I was going a bit too caustic and angry about a problem during my divorce many years ago. As he listened to me rant, my father said nothing as he held up his two fingers in a peace sign. That simple gesture spoke volumes to me, and I calmed down. My father was not one to go around putting up the peace signal, but he did so that day to send me a message. I got it, and I haven't forgotten it. Peace! It is a beautiful thing.
It is such a great thing to have time to smell the roses and think about the reason I have a garden. I have a garden because I love to create beauty. I also love to have a creative outlet, and gardening allows me to do that in a way that is physically, spiritually, and mentally satisfying. I thought I would spend my retirement years working as a master gardener. I even took the course and have the certificate, but I don't consider myself a master gardener. I still think of myself as a "dig in the dirt" kind of gardener. I design in my head as I work the ground. This means I have had some major design flaws in my yard. It means I am always digging something up and moving it somewhere else. It means I have not always considered nature, space, and placement as well as I should when I garden, but I am learning. I keep some notes along the way. I have a file in my garden shed where I keep the original receipts or tags for the roses and perennials I have planted over the years. I try to have a rule that if I can't say the name or remember the name of plant, I don't plant it.
My gardening has been very hit or miss this year. The heat has been a factor. My health has been another factor. And, we have our house on the market, so I have not made any huge additions to the garden. I just try to maintain it and enjoy it.
I don't know how I will part with this beauty if we ever actually sell this house and move. This is Easy Does It. This beauty was planted in June of 2010 after being purchased to be planted in my Peace Garden in memory of my daughter Julie after her death.
|Julie at her class reunion dressed in a shirt covered with orange flowers|
Another flower I love to admire in my Peace Garden, is the Queen Elizabeth. Introduced in 1954, it is sometimes known as the Queen of England rose. Interestingly, this rose did not bloom this year until the week of the Queen's Jubilee. When it first bloomed this year, it bloomed all week of the Jubilee, and then it stopped blooming because of the heat. It started blooming again when the Olympics began. I guess it identifies greatly with its British roots.
This rose is easy to grow and rewards me with beautiful sweet smelling bouquets. I prefer to cut the buds for arrangements because they are so beautiful. I like them better than the fully blossomed flowers.
I love deadheading my roses. It is a very relaxing pasttime for me. Working in my roses gives me time to think, to reflect, to smell the fragrance of the beauty of the plants I treasure. As I clip the spent blossoms, I always toss them into one my great treasures: my father bucket. I love this bucket because it reminds me of my father. It is a simple galvanized work bucket that still has paint splatters and cement attached to the surface inside and out of the pail he used as he went about working on the home he loved to maintain. I think of how important it is to stay connected to the simple pleasures and pride that work can bring. I am grateful to find beauty in a bucket full of spent blossoms. I am grateful for this time in life when I can just putter in my garden while literally taking time to smell the roses. It is good to not have to know what day it is, or even what time it is. Time is suspended as I ponder all the sights and smells of my garden. I treasure the memories that such times evoke within me.