The last day of February came a day late and thank goodness because if it hadn't I would have gone the whole month of February without posting and I really hate that I've been so flaky about my blog.
I wrote a big, long post about a huge house that is being built behind our house a couple of days ago, but it got to be so much of a tangent that I decided to postpone my post. Until today. Here it is, tangent forgone.
I woke up this morning and looked out my kitchen window. For months
now construction crews have been digging, pouring, framing, raising
walls and then a roof, and now even windows. A new house is going up,
dreams are being realized for more than one family. Meanwhile, our
dreams in this house seem to be fading and changing. When we bought this house, we
stood on the back deck, looking out to the openness, the park and the
trees, even the tops of the Rocky Mountains rising above them. This was
one of the biggest selling points for us - this feeling of openness in
an otherwise confined suburban space. No neighbors in the back - just
space. We liked that, we wanted that. The house itself recognized its
access to this space, with a gate on back fence that leads right through the
field to the park. We would take Fiona, our beautiful and aging collie,
out that gate and across the field to walk around the park that
we have lovingly called "Fona Park" ever since.
our girl, Fiona and now I long for that feeling of openness, that
feeling as we stood there, new homeowners, in our mid-twenties. We knew
what we wanted and we were making those dreams come true. Those dreams
are fading now, as that space fills up in the landscape behind our house
with a giant pile of dirt and a massive house designed to hold five
residents and a caretaker. The homes will accommodate developmentally disabled
adults who have never had the chance to live on their own. Their
parents, having raised their children well into adulthood,are eager to have
space to themselves again. Our old dreams are making way for these
new dreams, for these families and their children.
know in my heart that our own dreams are changing and we are moving
into a new part of our lives. The last five years have been incredible
and life-altering. Buying and moving into this sweet little house. Jeremiah had one knee surgery then two, then five. Planning a wedding and marrying. 10 months of pregnancy and a beautiful baby girl. Job changes. Nearly two years of parenting with all the joys and challenges that have come with it. Many of these things we dreamed of and created, others were surprises.
Since Amelie was born, this neighborhood has become our world. Our neighbors our friends. In the
fall a sign went up in the field behind our house. As winter began, they started laying
the water pipes. By December there was a giant gaping hole in the ground
with a complimentary two-story hill of dirt next to it. I called the
construction company and asked them to please put a fence around the
site that was only 20 feet from the playground in our neighborhood park,
Fona Park. They did and the foundation was laid. This winter was a hard
one for me and I stayed cooped up inside, watching as the frame went up
and the walls.
Spring is in sight. Two feet of snow
covered the neighborhood for weeks until just a couple of days ago. Under that snow lay tiny blades of green grass, the spiky beginnings of
irises. The house will be finished by summer, for sure. Four more are
slated for the field, but I am unsure of how fast it will all happen.
Our house is special to us. We love it and we love our neighbors. But its
starting to feel small, like we can't breathe. Our backyard was a
retreat, but now it is noisy from construction and the landscape is
marred. Soon there will be no need for the gate out back. Now I'm thinking of alternatives. We'll plant fast-growing trees along the back fence. Perhaps a fence
around the front yard so Amelie can play there while the construction continues. I think it's time to
start thinking about new dreams, to once again think
about what we really want and move in that direction.