With all the looking back I have been doing lately, I now find myself almost desperate to grab hold of a few things I can look forward to. One big decision is still up in the air (a final decision about where we should live) and I’ve been restless and stressed. Which has made it harder to pin down those hopeful things. They seem to be “slippery little suckers” (in the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman).
We know that, at the very least, we’re spending the summer at our house on Lake Wawasee in Indiana. It’s in a lovely spot, and has a great view. It sits right next to a playground and just across the street from the channel where Boy likes to fish. Mr. H’s family has spent time at that lake for many decades (and in the cottages that used to stand where ours does now, until they burned down over 30 years ago). For Mr. H, there are a lot of memories in that place, and it’s time to add to them.
The house, however, is still unfinished on the inside. We have walls and windows and stairs (and 1 1/2 working bathrooms), but we still need flooring, appliances, a few bathroom sinks, some tile. Bedroom doors.
I’d give anything for one of the crews from an HGTV show to come in and finish it up for us. Start to finish in 60 minutes of air time. Before and after pictures. That Carter guy. He seems capable, doesn’t he?
But odds are, he and the crew won’t be showing up, and the H crew will be doing some of the work ourselves. Painting and staining, for sure. Mr. H thinks we’ll be doing a whole bunch of other stuff, too, jobs that are far and wide outside my skill set (and probably his, too, but don’t tell him. He does have a stubborn streak going for him. And so do I, except my stubborn streak says things like, “We should really hire someone.” and “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”). Why is it that men always want to do things themselves? Good thing there are a few extra rooms in this house, so that we can go to our separate corners when necessary. Not that we’ll need to, of course. Yeah.
Still, the summer will be nice. The kids will swim and fish and make themselves dizzy on the merry-go-round. All of us will look at the stars from the balcony, and lie around in the hammock two at a time, taking turns. Girl wants to have a lemonade stand, and if we move there, she has big plans for a hot chocolate stand in the winter months. (I’m putting Girl in charge of my savings plan. She’s pretty darn good at this stuff.)
The kids will spent time with their Grandma H, whom they have not seen in a couple of years. And they will hang out with Aunt Ducky, too, and Uncle Ducky, and their cousins M and L. I imagine we’ll make some homemade ice cream a time or two, and some s’mores. That is, assuming we have free time in between tiling the bathrooms and sanding the hardwood floors.
When we designed the house, I claimed a room on the third floor (climbing two sets of stairs should be good for my backside), with a view of the lake through one of the dormer windows, for my office. Or writing room, which sounds more romantic and purposeful. Again, there’s nothing up there right now but high speed internet boxes and electrical outlets, and plywood for the floor. And potential. I like to think there’s a lot of potential in that room. And maybe in me.
From time to time, Mr. H threatens (jokingly) to take it over, my room, but my promises of dire consequences have kept him in check, so far.
There’s something that I’ve missed since we moved here to Arizona. Fireflies. I don’t know if Boy and Girl remember seeing them, though they might. It’s been a few years. But I know they will love the sight of those lights darting and hovering over an open field of soybeans, or threaded among rows of corn like strings of little white Christmas lights. I hope they will chase them, as I did, and collect them in a jar to watch for a while before letting them go.
Magic. And we could all use some of that.