Be Putting Sweat Equity into the Sideyard

Our house was a fixer-upper. A ‘major’ smoke-infested, 1960’s, pack rat treasure home.

We are proud owners of a fifty year old, well built house that has an incredibly large yard. The previous owner loved his wood, compost bins and other treasures. We have had the privilege of sorting and disposing of many of them.

On the weekend, Grandma and Papa came from VCity to help Sexy Neck with our sideyard ‘tidy up’.

I think the photos speak a thousand words:

Spring 2013 20140806-224136-81696526.jpg
August 2014

20140806-224210-81730296.jpg

20140806-224212-81732397.jpg
DONE!

20140806-224245-81765634.jpg

20140806-224243-81763615.jpg
Removing rubbish.

Boys helping.

Wood border.

Papa’s strength.

Raking smooth.

Exertion.

Truckloads of rock.

Sweat equity.

Sideyard done!

Be Going Back to the Laundry Room

The pull of the dirty, messy clothes.

I am a mess!

20140804-153154-55914804.jpg

The rhythm of the washing machine.

I crave this rhythm!

The quiet cave in the bottom of my house.

I find this time!

A place to rest.

A place to cry.

A place to be.

The first place I went to once we returned to our house after my mom died. (Read at your own risk!)

The place I return to.

Daily.

Allowing myself to feel deeply.

Being filled with my grief.

Sitting in it.

The boat of grief amongst the waves of sorrow.

My feelings are deep.

But I am full of gratitude for these feelings.

For this time of being.

Allowing these feelings to not turn to anger, bitterness or other things that will tie me down.

Each day is a continual letting go.

A releasing.

A moving forward, while grieving the past.

The gift of grief.

I painted this during the quiet of the morning after my bike ride.
Is this my mom’s chalk outline?
Mine?
My old self?
Or something all together different?
20140804-153156-55916790.jpg
In a stage of unknowing.

Being patient with myself and others.

Giving grace.

Receiving it.

Just being exactly where I am.

In the laundry room

Be Going Under

The waves pour over me.

The grief is profoundly painful.

Tears flows readily.

One year ago, my mom went into the hospital in excruciating pain.

Seventeen days she spent there.

The first time!

Our family was forever changed.

The knots that held my life together were unravelled, split apart and thrown into the fire.

Relationships changed forever.

Expectations shifted.

Pain.

Anguish.

Out of control.

Life. 20140803-220404-79444078.jpg

I will walk through my grief.

I will keep moving.

I know my strength, my weaknesses, my failings, my ways…

I will reach up towards the friends who love and accept me.

I will ride my bike.

I will give myself time and grace.

I will lie down when I need to.

I will not use food to soothe my soul.

I will not watch the news.

I will not put this on my boys.

I will not put my heart into a place where I could be wounded.

I will continue to deal with my stuff.

I will continue to loosen the rope, letting go of expectations.

I will cry.

I will seek God.

I will keep my eyes open for the light.

I will hold on as I go under.

20140803-221145-79905503.jpg

Be Proud

Today my heart swells with pride as I see how my community encourages children.

I am proud of my children’s efforts, genuine inspiration and creativity.

My heart overflows abundantly with gratitude.

For opportunity.

Effort.

Ability to read.

Having free libraries.

And really cool things for kids.

My boys, following my newly acquired love, have started watercolour painting. They have each entered a painting into an Exhibition. 20140801-225315-82395870.jpg

20140801-225333-82413052.jpgThey are very excited to take their grandparents.

On the same day, we walked across the street to our Public Library to hand in our finished reading logs. The boys got a medal and a free book. They were overjoyed.

20140801-225736-82656838.jpg

20140801-225735-82655709.jpg
Day by day.

Painting.

Reading.

Together.

With a goal in mind.

Or just because.

Coming from within.

To share with the outside world.

Beautiful painting.

Wonderful words.

Treasured boys.

What a gift they are!

What a wonderful community we live in.