Life at that old house in the roses

May 31—on the last day of May the painters gave our house a pressure wash—everything got dusted off and cleaned.  Dirt, grime, insect nests, leaves, and big gunk were knocked down.  Then, it rained all day. 

I went to our local Goodwill and found this cute little fountain.  When the painting job is done it will go in the back porch among all my potted plants, or maybe I should put it on the front porch and entertain the passing world to the soothing sound of water?… but for now, it sits on top of the little orange dresser in my gypsy room.  It looks so cute there!

Withered roses look so pretty… I should had left them be for a little longer, but the room had that particular smell typical of old cemeteries from old forgotten villages in some remote Spanish countries… and, I liked it… I do like it, and I should have let the beauty of lifeless roses embellish the room a little longer, after all, their musty scent perfected the soothing sound of water from the small fountain, but I thought the room needed be more organic, or naturalistic for that purpose; like bursting with potted plants, tall plants such as Kentia palms and Philodendrons, and a few hanging baskets like a little oasis of sorts with the scent of old cemeteries lingering on... And thus, I tossed the dried flowers, unplugged the little fountain and left the room. 

Yesterday, everything in the back porch had to be moved onto the garden, away from walls. And furniture and flowerpots in the front porch are now sitting in the living room. We're all excitedly waiting for the painting job to start... but this disarray of things makes me feel a little edgy and I get a little anxious for order to return and for the normality of things again… but all is worth it.    

I was looking at some pictures of exactly one year ago today… to see how life was unfolding back then at the little white cottage… and oh, the pond—my soul hovered over that pond; my wings flapped above the Crepe Myrtles and Butterfly bushes (Buddleia davidii). How lovely, how sunny and flowery and lush and very lovely everything looked, and how my heart wishes for a pond here at this old house in the roses.

I think of mom constantly.  I miss her terribly.  But there are days that are worse than others, and I'd think of her the entire day, and cry for anything, and my little heart is soft under this great nostalgia.  I don’t know why this happens, or why my heart would seek her out so profoundly on certain days more than others.  The beginning of this week it was like that…  and then the entire week.   She lives forever in my broken heart that doesn’t seal back up... I guess I'm still mourning.   

Do people still read blogs anymore? I read a comment the other day where someone was asking that question; favoring Instagram over blogging. It got me thinking. Yes, blogging has certainly changed a lot from what it used to be ten years ago when I started blogging, but then again people who enjoy reading will always read blogs.  I certainly choose blogs over Instagram, which I think is the plateau for a very different generation than mine… so I guess I'll keep blogging, and hope you'll continue coming by to share my little life!  It is so rewarding.

The painters didn’t come by today.  They won’t come tomorrow, neither the following day.  They asked if they could start on Monday instead.  Of course, I was expecting something like that to happen.  Such a good deal, was too good to be perfect!