|Not my photo. I stole it from here.http://flowergardengirl.wordpress.com/|
After a week of fantasizing about delivering a festering couch and various other scraps of junk to the new front lawn of my pesky rental tenant, I pulled into my drive this evening to discover that said couch, which my grunting dad and I hoisted and dragged out to the porch, and those other unsightly life scraps, were gone. My porch was empty again. Mine again. Exhale.
The boy was good on his word. Guilt.
Of course the infamous minifridge is still in the attic bedroom and there was that onerous pile of dog puke on the porch where the couch had been, but I'm choosing to overlook that at this point.
More important still, on the way into the practically-vacant supermarket I was beckoned by a forlorn, but bright, hanging geranium plant by the front door and plopped it down in my cart before I went in to shop.
On the way back to my parent's cabin, the one I have been feeling like I may never move out of, I instinctively pulled onto our road and into my driveway and stepped out into the watery evening to hang the geranium from the wrought iron plant hanger by the front steps.
Symbolism is a good word, a word that feels right and safe in my mouth at this very moment. Having the energy and optimism and motivation to stop and hang that plant up on my porch is nothing to be ignored.
This is progress. This is something. This.... is noteworthy.
On another worthy note, I went into ask to the post mistress to hold my mail, since I discovered the mailbox was not actually attached to its post--I tried to open it and it fell into the ditch-- and she said she would. I told her I was working on getting a new mailbox and post set up, but just needed to find myself a rent-a-husband. At that very moment, my neighbor, one of the many handsome carpenters in town, walked in the door. (I mention that he is handsome simply because, well, he is.)
"There is your rent-a husband right there," the postmistress said, laughing.
He told me he would put a new post up for me and I should keep my eye out for exactly which model of mailbox post I wanted and now I can't stop commenting on each and every mailbox post I pass.
Who knew there were so many styles to choose from.
All this to say, things are happening.
And, just in case my real, not rented, husband reads this, here is a love song to reassure him.
|Essie and Isla are in charge of custom designing our new mailbox.|
More oversharing over here at Momformation.