I'm not sure if it's the magic of turning 30 or knowing that I'm finished having children that has me so wrapped up in tomorrows. Regardless, I have been consumed with daydreams lately. Vivid, reach out and touch, see it like it's there daydreams. I have (of course) been doodling them, and fragmenting them and putting them in my sketchpad. However, it's time for me to sit down and put them up for you. And me. And, my kids.
Let me start by saying that I believe in the power of dreams. I believe in faith. And, I know that when dreams are tangible, you work harder for them and know they are coming. This is my offering. These words are full of hope and power. I do not put my worth in earthly things. I know that things can be easily taken away in an instant. That being said, I lay the foundation for these dreams with thanksgiving. I am not worthy enough to have all of the things I desire. I think that it isn't the brick and mortar that I crave when I describe them, it is the feeling, the sounds, the smells, the grass stains. Please know before you think I want a big house and a lot of showy things. It's quite the opposite actually.
You can see it from the street, up on a hill surrounded by thick, full trees. The front yard is littered with fallen pecans. The mailbox stands slightly crooked at the end of the gravel drive. As you pull in the driveway, I can hear you from inside. The gravel, rocks, dirt pop against your tires. You look to the left and see the back porch. Of course, this is how friends and family enter the house. 4 firm steps lead the way up to the back porch.It's wide, it's deep. And, the wooden slats have a few lifted nails that prove they have stood the test of time. As you look to the far left from the top porch step, you can see the swing at the end. You can hear the extra chains on each side clank and clang as they dance in the breeze. The porch swing is painted white. You notice that in a few spots the paint is chipped and can almost hear the songs we'll sing while gathered around it. Looking at the door, you notice that there's a screen door. Not too common for houses these days. Yes, my screen door will be quick. You swing it open and I can hear it creaking from the front bedroom. It slams into your rearend and you knock on the thick glass. The glass is thick and not perfectly clear because it's old and starting to show signs of weathering. The piles of firewood to the right of the door against the far end of the porch tell you that in the winter, this home is full of warmth. You can practically taste the hot cocoa as you think about it.
Inside, you are in the kitchen and see that (of course) there's a window over the sink. At the top of the window is another window, hanging. It is a stained-glass that looks like it came out of an old house. It hangs in front of the window and casts yellows and greens, blues and reds all over the kitchen. You feel like it's bright and airy. The floors are made of hardwood. You notice that they are very dark. So dark that you have to strain to see the individual pieces. The smell of fresh baked cookies hits you in the face and you close your eyes and just inhale. I invite you in for a cup of tea and take you to the sun room. We have a few white wicker pieces in there. A circular braided rug of all colors ties everything together and from the windows in the sunroom you can see birdfeeders and a birdbath in the distance outside. You notice that the paint in the house looks so thick that it surely must add to the structure and foundation of the home. With that many coats of paint, it will surely withstand thunderstorms and stay insulated.
The door knobs throughout the home are all made of glass. They have skeleton key holes but the keys are long gone. The humidity makes some doors difficult to open and close at times. Just as the floor creaks in certain spots, I have memorized these traits and dance around them with ease, music to my ears.
The tiles in the bathrooms are old. Thick. Surely from the 60s, you think. But, cobalt blue and charming. The faucets in the bathrooms are old as well. There's a cold and a hot. Separate. You touch the porcelain handles and smile, thinking that your grandmother used to have a sink like that. They squeak when they turn. The cold comes out frosty and of course, the hot takes a minute to warm up.
Passing by the bedroom, you notice the old chest at the end of the bed. Cedar. You imagine that it's full of quilts, granny squared, homemade. The cat pays you no mind as you walk by.
I thank you for stopping by, see you to the door. Dig out an old glass vase and grab some kitchen shears. "You have to take some of these hydrangeas with you to brighten up your kitchen." I hurry out past you to cut them. The garden hose that is "just long enough" to water all the flowers and the kids snakes around the edge of the bush and I fill up your vase just enough. There's "just enough" grass to cut in the summer. A sleepy weeping willow lines the far edge of the yard and you see a huge old tire hanging from a thick, yellowed rope. You can almost hear the laughter from the kids. You're sure I have to repeatedly call them in as day turns to night.
The clothesline is placed in a sunny spot, away from the dirt drive. You imagine the crispy feeling of blue jeans after they've been drying on the line all day and can't remember the last time you wore a pair that had been line dried. The sunflowers sway in the evening breeze and you climb back in your truck.
"Come back to visit real soon," I say. "We'll have watermelons, fresh corn, squash, and tomatoes very soon," I add. And, you smile, because you know. You know my dreams are here. And, for a minute you think about the ease, the air. You think about memories, love, and summertime. And, you feel welcome.
I'm looking forward to these things. These memories, these emotions. I'm looking forward to knowing that my hard work and sacrifice have provided the things that I want in life. I hope that I'll have you then. I hope that you and I will still be close friends. I have a lot to learn. Canning vegetables and growing watermelons, chopping wood and yes, revisiting long division with the kids as they do their homework.
Stay hungry, stay humble.
All my heart,
Kim
