Remember the living room and all it's flood-damaged glory? Well, we came one step closer to being able to call it finished. (As much as an architect and a graphic designer can ever call anything finished.)
We hung pictures.
I moved into this house seven years ago this week and yesterday we hung artwork on the walls of our home for the first time. (I have some commitment issues).
As it is want to do when anniversaries approach, my thoughts turned to that new year's week in 2002 when I moved in here with my three and a half year old boy. Newly single and completely clueless about what would happen next, I was determined to make a home for him. I stayed up nights painting cheerful colors and listening to Shawn Colvin sing about a Whole New (Me):
...you have the right
to shake the loneliness and shine the light
take all your tears and save 'em for a rainy night
go and wish on every star that's fallen
shake your head and wonder when it's all to good to be true
like a whole new you
so don't lose the way
you can do no wrong
and don't spend your days just trying to be strong
when you don't know your name
you know it's okay, you can do it...
Having no real plan and taking countless missteps (many of which I am still—I should say we are still—accounting for) I trudged forward blindly. I entered tentatively into a new relationship and three different jobs—just trying to make sense of my own abilities and desires. Fast forward seven years (filling in the blanks with some older posts and some yet to be written) to hanging pictures and untangling the garage mess with my husband of three years and our seventeen-month old joy-baby. Meanwhile my now-ten-and-a-half year old is out skiing with his dad. Metaphor? Perhaps. Or, more likely I think, just the next chapter.
Thanks for visiting.