I wanted to be perfect for you. The superwoman who caulked, insulated, painted, renovated and landscaped. But I'm not. I'm the person who works hard to pay someone far savvier than I to do this stuff.
This relationship with my house keeps ebbing and flowing. It is taking a lot longer to negotiate than I anticipated and, at this moment, I long for my old apartment. Today I indiscriminately pulled at vines, trying to clear a path. No mindfulness, just a sense of relief that the task was close to being completed. I flipped through the latest issue of Organic Gardening at the dentist's office, reading on how to cut back peonies, dry peppers and promote soil health ("how to meet your soil's nutritional needs so it meets yours") while thinking, "I can't really tell what's a weed and what's not."
My lofty goal of building rain barrels out of old casks from our local winery is still a thought, and the temptation to purchase them is strong. If/ when I do, it will likely be the kind of barrel pictured on this page from Van Go Mobile Arts, a nonprofit that uses art as way to empower and support at-risk youth. This is fairly high on my to-do list because it makes so much sense. Seventy percent of household water is used on lawns. Capturing rain saves this precious resource—an urgent need as the majority of our nation grapples with water scarcity.
Am I a fraud? I hope not. My new goal is to make my inner nest as beautiful, functional and comfortable as I can before this series hits the one-year mark and draws to a close. This comfort is tenuous: I'm usually disheartened by a state of incompletion but, quite frankly, I need my life back. This house has taken over like the vines wrapping around my front porch, slowly breaking up my foundation.