Same Ol', Same Ol'

I keep losing track of the days, the weeks. (According to the interweb, I have a lot of company.) My days have become a round of get up, work at the castle, come home, play with the baby for a bit, do the necessary chores to keep my house from falling apart, stretch, go to bed, repeat. I've worked there almost every day since my return from Minnesota in early August; it's a lot like having a job! The only thing that seems to change is the household chore of the day, and when that's the high point of my day, I think I need a bit more variety, just sayin'.

It feels as if I make no progress at the castle, but I know that's not accurate. I have proof otherwise - I've started jotting down what I did each day in my calendar, and when I look back, the progress tracks are clear. 

The bathroom tile is almost complete; we just need to set the shelves and install the grout. When I finished work today, three of the upstairs rooms were ready to paint. I've started to set goals for myself - the current one is to have the rooms painted by Friday. I've been telling people I'd like to have it move-inable by the end of October. I know it's a stretch, but if Joe and I keep at it, it's not out of the realm of possibility.  (I'll keep you posted!)

I found a happy spot in the garden there earlier this week. A friend of mine had brought over lunch, and I was trying to find a quiet place we could sit, so wandered with him to the lower level of the garden. There's a curved stone bench there, the seat protected from the wind that day by the high stone back. I'd never sat on it before, just cleaned around it as I tried to reclaim the garden from the zombie trees. (also known as the Tree of Paradise, they are persistent weed trees - some of the ones we cut down late in the spring sprouted baby trees from the trunks lying on the ground, both cut edges exposed to the air. I had to admire their grit and determination to survive, even as I figured out ways to make them go away and stay gone.)

We sat, distributed our lunch, and started talking. As we talked, I looked ahead and realized I could only see one building from my vantage point - the well-maintained back side of a hospice center. The rest of my vision was filled with a sea of trees filling the slope down to the park behind the house. I could hear children laughing in the distance as they explored the playground there, a happy and welcome sound. The sun was warm on my face, the sky a beautiful autumn blue, studded with fluffy white clouds.

I swear I felt happy vibes emanating from the stone seat I was sitting on. I like to think someone spent a lot of contented minutes there enjoying a pocket of wilderness in the heart of the city. I also like to think the bench welcomed our presence; it's not been sat on for a lot of years. I think it's been a little lonely.

I've decided to do my best to make sure it doesn't get too lonely again this season. Already, I've stolen some time from more important work to clean up the dead treelets (I sprayed them a month ago with Roundup, it killed over half of the zombie babies), to pick up the sticks littering the ground, to gather the stone fragments into a pile and to remove the inevitable pieces of broken glass and bits of mortar. I can't count this effort as work, though I've already filled four leaf bags with stick fragments. Rather, I count it as tending my soul as well as the soul of the garden - both a bit tattered and unkempt, both ready for the darkness of the winter season soon to come - for myself, I hope it will be a time of rest, reflection and renewal.

In the meantime, I am reminded to stop and see the beauty in front of me - nature is showing her brightest colors as she prepares for winter's rest.

Beauty Is.