Thursday, March 23, 2017

Welcome to the Treehouse

I love this little space here, but I often wonder if I should just let it go since I mostly let it go anyway. I think about it very very often and then the ebb and flow of life washes my energy and attention in a different direction before I manage to give it more than a passing thought.

Since this space continues to bring me joy, I'll keep it around for now and pop in when I can. I hope that you will enjoy it when I'm here and think of me fondly when things are quiet. It's been nearly a year now since we bought and moved into our new home. I'd like to invite you to join me for a little virtual house warming in this post.

Welcome to The Treehouse. There is much much much to do. Many things to be fixed and fretted over. Many many dollars to be spent. Many hours of sweat and sore muscles. But start your tour on the deck, with the soft breeze lifting your hair. Look out over the trees and imagine for a moment that you are an eagle, surveying your domain. It's different up here in the treetops. The air is lighter. The sun is brighter.

Back when we first moved in, before the afternoon sun became molten lava flowing into every tiny crack and crevice in the blinds, there were clouds - lots and lots of billowing clouds. I could leave the blinds open all around as I spent my days tip tapping away on my keyboard at my makeshift desk on the dining room table. Elevated above the living room on the upper level of the split, I could peer out into the gently blowing treetops and I was on top of the world.

I could forget about the brittle, sun-baked siding, curling up around the edges. I could look past the exposed sub-floor that had once been covered by decades old royal blue carpeting. I could forget to ponder how we'd get the growing network of cobwebs out of the topmost corners and nooks. I could not ignore the last dying gasp of the air conditioner - we were in Texas in spring - but I could forget about my kitchen remodel Pintrest board and the ugly, mocking popcorn on the ceiling. I could imagine the scent of spring rain on the breeze instead of the stale, artificial scent of outlet-based air fresheners that had seeped into the wood of the tawny cedar paneling. I could simply soar.

Welcome to The Treehouse, where dreams begin.

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