D's father telling me, again, as both PILs have, that the house has changed me, that I've "blossomed" since living here. Still not quite sure how to react to this. Certainly I'm happier here, my first home in a house, with a garden. Apartments were all I knew. The house I grew up in was no home to me, not a safe place where I could be myself.
Finding D was more home that I ever imagined, sufficient. Before that, I lived in my skin, impervious to the weather. After, what did it matter where we lived in our little paired system, even after Moby became our cat, so long as we were together? The house was a purely economic decision, rents going up, house prices and interest rates down, fewer apartments that allowed cats. Finding the right house was nice, but not critical.
Or so I thought. Until we moved in, and the house held me close, and Moby became it's god, and I dug the garden to heal the soil, and D laid out his guitars in his music room, and home became Home. I had no idea, just as I couldn't understand love until love grew, slowly and persistently, in my life. Our home, to do with as we like, to feel safe, to create in. Yeah, I'm probably a larger person than before.
The allium about to bloom is damaged, intentional or not, who knows. A child, a crazy person (like our guy who argued with and attacked the sunflowers, and now is tidy and stable and smiles and greets me when I'm outside) or someone so mean they express their anger by hurting flower buds, or a dog racing over the edge, oblivious to human plantings. In all cases, I can only feel a sad compassion, and be glad there are more buds to bloom.
Our dear Fresca, not having to work through the notice period. One of the blessings of the OR, the last week or the first are the same. Walk in, run the room, clean up and leave. I've gone through many "last two weeks" and they suck so badly. So hard to keep my attitude from ennui. But in this job, every case is the same, no matter if it's first or last.
Cats continue to chase and co-exist in relative peace. Ate facing each other, not my choice, but where they were when I put down gushy food. Moby stared at Eleanor eating for a while, then noticed the food, and started to eat.
Professional emails, as from a manager to staff, should not regularly contain misspellings, nor exclamation marks. Certainly not consistently and reliably have misspellings, poor grammar and exclamation marks.
9 comments:
Ah, a home to call our own. Wonderful!
A bit like seeing my (possibly favourite) niece and her partner at work on their new business unit, after a period of uncertainty and sadness, how they're blooming again, no need for kids for them or even a big marriage show, just a renewed commitment to something shared.
Long may it continue, for you too.
Roots are the important parts. Can always grow another bud next time around. A little house can be a great good thing.
Rou,
And a place to brew, or grow, or whatever.
Lucy,
Finding a voice, a haven and joy.
Nimble,
Yup, it'll come back next year. We'll still be here.
I try to make it so that none of my writing ever includes grammar, punctuation or spelling errors, regardless of intended recipient.
It is great that your in-laws recognized this change in you and mentioned it to you.
Phil,
Same here, but I only expect that of professional correspondence, in others.
D's parents are good hearted people. I think the whole thing is, I'm an introvert at home, which is a whole different ball game.
Your own home IS different. You do have the responsibility of it...but it is yours. A garden gives so much.
Professional communications should be just that.
Yes, I've loved reading about you in your lovely house. It looks so very you. So wonderful.
Thanks for sharing my relief at not having to finish the second week of my two-week notice!
It was so hard to force myself to get up my energy to face work after I felt done, done done.
I like seeing you shape your house to yourself; and you restore its good heart--the wood under the paint, the healthy soil...
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