My imaginary life

I did not sleep well last night. I don't know why ... other than the parades of fire engines and ambulances I heard outside my open window a couple of times during the night. Having tanked up on half a pot of coffee, I'm not too sleepy now but there just might be a nap in my future later this afternoon.

When I was considering buying this house, one of the first things I did was walk over from the Red Eye, one of my favorite coffee shops. Proximity to good coffee was important. I moseyed around the neighborhood - the "Heritage District" - to look at the houses. Sauntered over to the park a few blocks away and imagined taking my great nephew there (there was only the one "great" nearby at the time). I sat on the porch and imagined myself leaning against the stone-covered pillars, reading and enjoying the sounds of MY neighborhood. I snuck into the Secret Garden-esque back yard and pictured morning coffee on the brick patio, secluded picnics, puttering in the dirt, enjoying a glass of wine in the evening ...

I thought of hosting family gatherings. Slumber parties. Out-of-town family and friends. Being able to say, "Mi casa es su casa."

At the time, I wasn't just me. I was part of us - Lizz and me, of course. But also part of the often-awkward and chaos-filled relationship with J - the musician I dated for almost 4 years. And J's kids and grandson, who moved from the periphery to the center of our lives again and again. I think some part of me knew that making this move might be the first step toward the life that was pretty much just mine to live. That place where I am now.

To be sure, we've done a lot of living in this house in the 4-1/2 years it's been mine. All those things I imagined and more.

And now it's just me. Figuring out what to do next. I've had a lot of time to think over the past few months, but I'm not sure I'm much closer to figuring it out.

Last night, I went upstairs for the first time in three months. The door at the foot of the stairs has been closed since I bagged the bat in the bathroom. (I thought the bat might have come down from upstairs ... now I'm not so sure.) I'd been opening windows and doors on the first floor to let in the balmy spring breeze. After a moment's hesitation at the closed door, I opened it and went up, stopping to snag the tiny Christmas tree on the steps that needed to be put away. After rounding the landing, I cautiously peeked my head into the bedroom ... no evidence of bats here. Just a couple of plops of slightly petrified cat barf. (Yes, Lizz, I cleaned them up.) I surveyed the tidy rooms, noting evidence of vacuuming when the Elizabeths visited, scooped up some towels to throw in the washer, opened a window and paused for a few minutes to count my blessings.

I'm always amazed at how peaceful it is up there. Thinking of it now, maybe I'll head up again later for a you-know-what.


(Oh ... the rock in the photo? Those are my imaginary childhood friends - painted by my mother. I'll introduce them another time. I wonder what they're doing now ...)