Ed was a master of mixed tapes and CDs. The last summer he was alive he included Death Cab for Cutie's What Sarah Said on our Seaside 2011 mix. I listened to the song a few times before I realized what it was about. And, then, after Ed died, I would listen to the lyric Love is watching someone die and be *amazed* that I could feel absolute grief and gratefulness at the same time.
Oh, but, wait, I'm over feeling bad, so that's not what this post is about...
Things are moving forward at the house. Not quite in the way I had planned, OF COURSE. That's why I bring up the song- I had the first line in my head today:
And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time...
Just when I was ready to call the contractor to get started on my new plans for my master bedroom suite upstairs, the doctor informed me that the foot surgery I was planning for two years from now- this summer at the earliest, actually should happen, um, yesterday. Somewhere, father time was chuckling at my plans. Silly me. Looks like that project will start a few months later than I had anticipated.
So, while I was gearing up to post some before shots of the upstairs in anticipation of the beautiful after shots (because that's why we watch an entire show on any DIY or HGTV station- for those three minutes at the end of before and after shots, right?!), I barely had time to steal some shots of my backyard before my incredibly amazing nanny/landscape specialist, Sarah, headed over this weekend to tackle some of the outdoor projects we've talked about.
After wrestling with a particularly gnarly grassy stump thing, even calling on the aid of her boyfriend with his pickax, we were discussing what to do with the now spacious pile of dirt next to my backyard deck. We talked about how living with the lack of something-- the blank canvas--is crucial for discovering what to create. That's how I often decorate or re-decorate a room: I have to remove everything but the basics before my imagination can fill in the space. Same thing with my career: at one point, both Ed & I had to say no to our jobs before knowing what jobs we would say yes to. That space in between the "no" and the "yes" is absolutely terrifying, but it's a crucial place for transition. I relish that I know both the place of no and yes, and particularly, of the value of the in-between. It's what Ed would call the "being comfortable in the uncomfortable."
Anyway, I continue this path of the in-between, where life, I suspect (or hope), is fertilized for more richness. And, I too, can chuckle at the plans. Though, I do find some sweet satisfaction in the "before and after" photos of the backyard:
The last picture is the blank canvas of dirt- I'm thinking this year we'll plant pumpkins.