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One year

One year ago this week, my builder handed me the keys to my new home. She managed to build my home, a structure that took nearly three years to obtain bank financing, in just over five months. She handed me the keys to my dream home, a dream made tangible and concrete, on my birthday. It was by far the absolute best birthday present I was ever given. The truth is that it was a gift I gave myself. While that sounds selfish and self-centered, the pure facts are that I believed in this dream beyond any reasonable doubt. Many people, including my builder, affirmed that most people would have quit long before me. She used my tenacity as a warning to her subcontractors, all of whom view her as a tough cookie. She said, “If you think I am tough, wait until you meet the home owner.” She got her subs to finish the job because she wanted to give me this house as my birthday gift. There were people here to celebrate with me, to drink champagne and eat cake and to watch the August Blue Moon rise.

It’s been a year. A swift and at times turbulent year. What is the saying? Just when you think you are handed all in life you believed you might ever want, a pitch hits you squarely in the side of the head. You might get all you’ve ever wanted but you also get handed a bucket of shit you maybe didn’t want. I can honestly say…all being told…having this house was my saving grace. Having my little castle with my free range acres afforded me refuge. I could come home and pull up my imaginary drawbridge and the outside world retreated. I planted a garden.I hung pictures on the walls; I planted a small orchard of fruit and hut trees. I made fresh memories with my sons and some special friends and family. I made jams and pound cakes and sewed a few quilts. I made a home.

It gets quiet some nights. It’s lonely, too. But I have safety. I have confirmation that dreams do come true if you fight for them, believe with all you fiber that they can be made real…and you do the work. It also means that at some point you must TRUST others to help. Trust my builder to build the house. Trust my sons to accept it as their home, too. Trust that my friends will come and celebrate under my roof. And one day, I must trust that my other dreams will arrive, too. Just make a home, Lisa. Be still and make a home and LOVE will come.

Something about turning 47 has been harder than I expected. Maybe it is the PRIME NUMBER. Forty seven is indivisible; it cannot be made smaller. It stands whole and undeniable. 47. But this year has been full of blessings yet brought an equal measure of adversity. I must remind myself to keep dreaming. This house, making this home was but one of my life dreams. I now have a home base from which to launch all my other mad capped and hair brain schemes. What does the rooster say? What do Peter Pan’s Lost Boys crow? Never grow up! Keep believing in the magic and follow that star.

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