growing dreams, part one

growing dreams, part two

Yeah well?I think this series of posts is less of an episodic and more of a ?car went off the road, rolled over into a ditch and snapped a fan belt.? And we?re all standing here waiting for a tow truck to come and save us, but knowing it won?t since we forgot to charge the cell phone and no one knows we are here.

At least, that?s how it feels to me.

I wasn?t really intending to bore you with stories of house repair. Rather, I was fully intending to bore you with stories of how a cynical, nihilistic dilettante was transformed into a new age poster child who walks around like a one-hit wonder singing, "I believe in miracles . . . .?

But, as seemingly comfortable as I am with picking the lint from my navel and flicking it at the screen, somehow this whole thing has degenerated into some kind of preening-wow-aren?t-I-great soapbox blathering and that couldn?t be further from what I had intended. As I am one, not great and two, scared of heights (yes, particularly the towering heights of a soapbox).

So, what WAS I trying to share?

F*ck if I know.

It?s just that I am now living 180 degrees from where I once was. That is, in some respects. In other respects, my life is prattling along very much as it always has.

And I?m just trying to come to grips with it all. Because the biggest change is where we are now living. Which, people, was ALWAYS JUST A DREAM. Just a freaking pipe dream. Just a lie-your-head-back-on-the-sofa-stare-up-at-the-ceiling-and-make-sh*t-up dream.

And, I can?t quite reconcile it. I can look back and see how it happened. I can look back and see that it happened. But I can?t quite reconcile it.

I clearly remember reading a line out of The Artist's Way in 1993 about how she was writing to us from a house in New Mexico that she had visualized for 10 years before it came into being (and thinking yeah right, bogus). But then how I oh so secretly followed her lead anyway and wrote down my dream home onto a piece of white, lined paper folded it up and tucked it away into the bottom of my purse; I found it recently*, a sorry, disheveled wad of scribble.

But when I opened it and smoothed its deep creases and read over what I had written?it described Soliden. Actually, it described something not even half as wonderful as Soliden, yet there were so many unusual details in common that the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Spooky.

So there you are. No answers. An adjustment period, I guess. But I don?t know that I want to adjust. I don?t want to become blas? about these extraordinary blessings. I want to wake up every single day and feel amazement and gratitude and a sense of wonder at it all.**

Oh, and did I tell you I saw a mountain lion cross over my driveway and go down the front field? Yes. A mountain lion. It seems cougars have been introduced into upstate New York to combat the overpopulation of deer. And, well?they?ve made it over into my backyard.

Anyone want to come over to my house for a cup of tea? Anyone?

*crickets*

*No, I still haven?t found my passport?but I?m finding strange notes to myself all over the place.

**Did I just quote a Disney cruise ship commercial? Shoot. Me. Now.

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