Earlier today I was reading through my archives, looking for something from the early days of sobriety. Then I had a thought... and a went searching... and found something I wrote a year ago, on Weathered Spaces.
On January 7th of 2010 I wrote about the place I dreamed of living:
The walls will not be white. They will tell stories, and the floors will creek as we make our new paths worn in the middle of the night for tucking in and snuggles, making the monsters disappear. The new imperfections that we bring with us will twist and bend with the old... and they will be the tiny details that we remember best. The crack in a cabinet door. The drafty corner in the sitting room, where extra quilts lay waiting to be used. The pencil marks that stop time for a moment in the lives of growing children.
Our messy lives will not stick out like a brightly colored mitten left haphazardly in the snow.
And today, January 6th of 2011 we found out that in less than a month we will be moving into the exact place that I dreamed about. Lucas received a call from our soon to be landlords, and we're signing the lease this weekend. The space gave me chills when I saw it earlier this week, but I didn't dare get too excited for fear that it might not work out. But this place? It works on all levels. There is a view of a river, a yard, a beautiful porch where we can sit and eat popsicles and our sheets can dry in the sun. There is exposed brick inside, and built in bookshelves and squeaky floor boards. There is old mixed with new and character and warmth. There is room to breathe and grow and be us.
A year ago I dreamed. Today reality is setting in... I have boxes to pack, and cheeks that hurt from smiling all day...