Fall in Conroe. I step outside at 630am and I DON’T SWEAT. Right away. Ahhh. This is going to be nice. Very nice. I can’t wait for my first Halloween here. Will there be kids that come to the door? Probably not many but that’s ok. I fully intend to go all out anyway. Until Halloween has thrown up all over my house I won’t be satisfied. Oh what I could do with all these old tree’s in the yard! And the long driveway….(hands rubbing together enthusiastically…)
Our little family has been through quite a bit of change this summer but it’s been good. It was time to get rid of the old clutter and have a thorough cleaning of the junk we’d accumulated. Moving to a new house forces you to assess everything you own. (Do I REALLY need this rickety wooden plant stand I took from the neighbors garbage three years ago?) No.
I even enjoy typing an address in the GPS and having no idea where it is. Like, no clue AT ALL. It’s kind of fun getting lost in a new town, wondering how long it will take me NOT to get butterflies when I have to take the highway. (From past experience, two years…) As for how long it takes not to get LOST in town well, I’d lived in Moncton for 33 years and I’ll let you know when I stop getting lost THERE.
It feels really good to be here. Like, really good. Nothing special has happened and I haven’t pulled anyone out of the path of a speeding bus but I feel like I’m MEANT to be here. Whooo, whooo. I’m getting all whoo-whoo on you. Sometimes I look around at the house or the sky when I’m taking Toby for a walk (When I should be checking bushes for coyotes) and I think…I was always meant to be here.
I miss my family. I miss my chosen kids. I miss Moncton and friends. Heck I even miss the job. I miss Tim Hortons and Mountain Road and for some weird reason I even miss the Y. But I feel like, I really feel like this is where I am supposed to be. I don’t know if that’s any consolation to my mom and dad. I am happy here despite the ‘missings’. That’s a word. If it isn’t it should be.
Part of the happy is looking forward to planting my vegetable garden, arranging my flower garden. Those piles of dirt are like a blank canvas. An empty page. It’s just WAITING to burst with life. Nothing makes me happier than mucking around in the dirt. ‘Gardening’ is just an extension of the mud pies I used to make as a kid. An adult excuse to get dirty and play outside.
Part of the happy-magic happens just after I get Ellie down and before I drop from exhaustion myself, when the fake fireplace is on and the TV is wailing the saxophone blues and a smutty romance awaits on my Kindle…that’s the LIFE.
I encourage others to go ‘play’ in the muck. Maybe you’d rather not dig around in the dirt (Spiders! Worms!) but you’ve always wanted to try painting. While you’re at it, go get lost. Someone somewhere MUST drive to a Michael's, buy paints and a canvas, get lost on the way back, then once you’re home cover the porch with a tarp and GO CRAZY. With the paints. The PAINTS. This is a PG-13 blog.
Anyway I’ll let you know about the garden. I’ll take pictures of when Halloween threw up on my house. If I get to daydreaming and get eaten by that coyote well, them’s the breaks.