Let’s pretend that this is new. Better yet, let’s pretend I’m young.
I was okay in the dust when I was younger because I didn’t know about water.
We lived in Monument, Colorado, with a surprisingly arid landscape full of cacti. I had never seen a natural lake.
Dust felt natural.
You and I stood at the indoor balcony of our first house and watched the water pour as a paint bubble down the front, two-story wall. It wasn’t supposed to rain for four straight days. We didn’t believe the compromised roof was going to fail so soon. We tried to call for help, but learned your energy to work was going to fix things faster than any delayed contractor could.
Water started our path through dust.
We renovated that house. I trod off proudly to my teaching job with signs of your labor carried in lines of dust on my skirts. It was a declaration of home ownership.
It didn’t bother me then.
It didn’t even bother me the other three houses we’ve renovated. It was all part of our young adventure.
I am done with dust.
It has been so messy around here the last few days. Sanding drywall drops a layer of dust that doesn’t really ever go away. I’m certain I have dust from every house we’ve renovated imbedded in my skin… or buried in my ears. Part of me is so ready for the mess to be cleaned, while another part of me knows this phase of our lives is coming to an end.
I have to admit I’m a little sad to see it go.
This last project mimics this past winter and maybe with a new perspective I can avoid bitterness about both. Let’s imagine the story has just begun and the dust settling at our feet is magical instead of maddening.
Remember the way snow felt at the start of December? Yeah, me too. Now, let’s forget the snow that fell today has come in late March. Instead, let’s relish its freshness.
We’re at the last house renovation. This is the last time you’ll be covered in soot of your own work. From the very first house we’ve owned together, we have raised the dust to bring life to what was dying in some way. I should embrace gratitude for our dusty story.
That’s why I need to stop myself from cringing with each footprint we leave as we walk through the dusty part we’re mending onto the wood floor we’ve already replaced.
This is it.
This is the layer of dust that, once blown away, will reveal the calming center of where we’ve been aiming to be.
A house on a lake…imbedded into a shoreline with humid leaves for blankets. It’s not the dust-filled, wide open potential of a Pike’s Peak view, but it is the calmest place we’ve been able to imagine together that will let the dust of our crazy lives finally settle.
Copyright 2013 Meagan Frank Choosing to Grow