i have vivid memories of my parents (and other adults on our street(s) ) standing in their yards just staring. hands on hips, eyes sweeping across their yards, heads cocked, deep in thought. the time and hours they would spend pruning and mowing and picking plants left me telling myself i would never own a house with a yard. a townhouse would be more my style. what could possibly be so gratifying about caring for a yard?!
and yet there i was yesterday – standing in my driveway with hands on hips, eyes sweeping across my yard, head cocked, and deep in thought about whether or not 3 or 4 white lantana plants would work best by the mailbox. the mailbox that could easily earn its own paragraph for me to talk on and on about – white or black? standard or large capacity? post style and color? number color and font selection (yes, you can now even order special mailbox fonts. i love it.)?
and it’s not just the yard. i also remember my parents getting excited over a little room-redo or touch-up and wanting us to share in the excitement. unfortunately, i bet the most enthusiasm i could muster was a “that’s nice.” but now? ha. i’ll pull anyone and everyone in a laundry room to prove what amazing things a coat of paint on shelves will do. or i’ll make you stand in the back of the family room and gush over our newly painted bookshelves and talk up the previously brown and awful paneling.
i love this place. termites and leaky pool included.