still waiting and dreaming

I don't have a lot to write about today but I want to throw some happy energy this way, and the last post was a bit of a downer, to say the least. 

I would like to say that I am quite amazed that we have kept a gingko tree alive in a pot for TWO YEARS, waiting for our next home and a permanent spot for it.  (See post farther down with pic.)  I was so afraid we had killed it by leaving it out too long last fall, but it came back more beautiful than ever this spring.  I'll have to post a pic of it soon.  And tomorrow I hope to borrow a few leaves from it to print for notecards.

We are still waiting on bank approval for our new buyer.  We had approval on the old buyer but when he fell through, it seems we basically had to start the process over.  UGH.  Fingers crossed that something will be happening very soon on this front.

Meanwhile, we're biding our time in the rental, which has spoiled us in many ways.  Both homes have, really.  I know our next home probably won't have a granite and stainless kitchen, and that's okay.  I will miss the large (by our standards) and private master bathroom we have now and our big closet (again, by our old house standards!).  But...I dream of space...and trees...and peace...and quiet...and stars...and maybe chickens...goats...barefoot girls running across a big open yard and around trees and squealing with delight...growing our own vegetables...fruit trees...blueberries... blackberries...scuppernongs...all those little trees and plants that Brandon has dug up on walks and transplanted and nurtured finally finding a permanent home...a quirky old house that doesn't have to be so perfect...room to roam and explore...room to be messy...room to create...somewhere I can plant herbs in an old sink and no one will complain...somewhere to reconnect and escape.

And Brandon would say, within a good school system and near a good grocery store. ;)

I worry that what I want doesn't exist anymore.  That there is no safe place any longer.  That crime and illness and pollution and worry and fear have creeped in everywhere and that it's no longer possible for my childhood or his to exist anymore.  I want that sense of exploration and wonder for the girls.  I grew up on a semi-rural acre of land, but roamed the creeks and woods and pine trees and hayfields (much to my mother's worry and/or without her knowledge).  Brandon grew up in a more rural area.  We both had to go "into town" for groceries...or anything else, I think.  I wonder if what we want (even if it's not always exactly the same thing) exists here or if we should look elsewhere...or if it matters where we look.  I remember one of our first conversations after we met being about how many generations of our families had been in Georgia, and how it just felt like home...how when I drove back to middle Georgia the feel of the land itself called out to me.  The thought of picking up and moving somewhere we have no relationship with seems very strange to me, although I'm sure people do it all the time.

For years I was content to live an urban life and go home on weekends.  Becoming a family changes your perspective, especially when your family size doubles all at once.  No school seems good enough, no neighborhood safe enough, no yard big enough.  I've become too picky and it has immobilized me.  I've thought too much.  How to let it go?  I have no idea.

Friends post photos that make me jealous...not of their homes, but of their sunsets, their sunrises, their trees, their trails and paths and rocks, their chickens and pigs and turkeys and bunnies and dogs, their snow covered mountains, their lakes, their children grinning and holding a duck.  I think that must be an odd thing to envy, but maybe not.  My sister takes a walk every day equal to my two block circle--and she only goes to her mailbox. 

Is there a term for cabin fever when it's actually marked by the boundaries of your yard? 

I had a dream several months ago of a house.  Not even a dream, really, just a brief moment of a dream right before waking.  I was walking around the corner of a white wooden single story home, maybe 1940s or so, simple.  I round the corner and come to a patio table and chairs, under a tree which is at the front corner of the house.  The table and chairs are on pebbles not grass, and the driveway--gravel and rock--loops around the front of the house.  I was carrying a tray of food, it was early summer, and it was perfect.  I woke up thinking, that's home.  Wherever it is, whenever we find it, and it's not anything like the house I thought I wanted.  But it's imperfectly perfect and it gave me pause, and hope.  I have no idea where our home is, or when we find it, but I have the feeling we'll find it even without looking.  (This is nothing like my usual organized, super-planning self.)

This is possibly the most rambly post I've ever made.  Thanks for sticking with me and listening. 

*This post is sort of a personal response to a home I found on Craigslist tonight.  I clicked the link and froze--THAT is OUR house, I thought.  I unplugged the ancient laptop and hauled it to Brandon, plugged it in, practically jumping up and down.  LOOK! I said.  LOOK AT THIS HOUSE.  Where is it, he asks?  Oh, he says...I'm not sure I want to live that far out.  And he rolls over to go back to sleep, obviously unaware that THIS. IS. IT.  So...maybe it's not it.  It's a dream, for sure.  But it's hope.  And that, for now, is enough.