Houses, however, like people, rarely reach their final incarnations and stay there. (Although I do know a few people who get it right and leave it.) If you are a tinkerer and endless tweaker like me, you know that it's much like writing: once you have the bones in place, you move things around until you hear the click, you take things away, you add whole chunks.
I woke up this morning, all the punctuation in place, the margins free and even, and the house making a fairly coherent point: It's happy.
That's the mood my house aspires to, just as its only inhabitant does--but I'm also a rather slipshod and sloppy sort of person by nature. The furniture in the living room right now needs a rug to anchor it--just as sometimes a piece of writing needs an anchor to pull the elements together.
Birds on the deck outside are clambering for seeds and the feeders are empty. So today, after my nap, I'm going to look for a rug and seeds. I had a good workout at the gym, bought groceries and hardware, and that's the end of Part 1 of the day.
The pecan tree has finally decided to release its green shoots, but the stubborn pomegranate is saying, "Not this year, no blooms for you."
Our one day of hard freeze killed most of my plants, so the pots outside are mostly empty, all but a wagon full of succulents, survivors and thrivers no matter what.
The house and I putter along, putting out rough drafts as we go, then tweaking as the seasons and the stuff inside dictate. Whatever its state at any given moment, it's a great place to take a nap!
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