Monday, May 31, 2010
After caring for my daughter during her post-surgery recovery, (she is doing very well and the cysts were benign) I returned home this week. As I drove up my driveway, I was struck that it looked like a deserted property. The grass was definitely in the meadow mode, my flower beds were weed beds, and the gray, cold rain cast a gloominess over the home-coming. The fact that Mike is still a month away from home didn't help my attitude, either.
I didn't have time to stay home and work on the yard because I had a couple of days work getting the finishing touches done on my mother's condo to have it ready to show. After hiring other folks to handle the repairs, painting, and carpet laying, my sister Janice and I did final clean up and staging of the place. Our task was to get all the "grandma" out of the place and make it look fresh and contemporary. I can't really explain the mixture of emotions as we totally eradicated any signs that our mother had lived there, while successfully creating an eye pleasing and appealing new ambiance to the place. Her mark there and consequently our connection to that place has now been erased. All that's left is the selling.
That process ended late Friday. After a dinner and beer at High Street Cafe, Janice and I parted ways. I arrived home after 10 pm and felt wiped out.
Saturday I woke up to better weather and took a good walk around our place. What I realized is, in spite of the overgrown and untended look to the lawn and garden, I live in an incredibly beautiful place. When I stepped out the door that morning, a great blue heron flew away from our front pond. That is always a magical gift to me. This following photo essay is to share and rejoice in what I do have.
This robin is enjoying a personal size bath tub.
This clematis has never looked better.
Earlier, when I saw leaves before blooms, I thought this dogwood had failed to bloom. As it turns out, it put forth these delicate flowers after the leaves came out.
These peonies are faithful bloomers...
as are the Dutch iris.
And eight years after her death, my sister Mary Jo's roses continue to connect me to her.