White picket fences

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Image by Amelia O’Connor

When we were looking at houses all those years ago we missed out on many lovely ones….everything seemed just that little bit out of our reach financially.  When we spied our now home we felt a sense of urgency with it.  One we’d never felt before.  We stalked every open inspection and willed the people going through not to see it’s potential.  It needed love, lots of it….and we spent every weekend for months tending to it before we moved in.  It’s still half renovated and we have plans for an extension in some years when the boys are bigger.  I can’t stomach the idea of another project at this point but we will run out of space soon enough as the boys limbs grow more gangly and their minds grow bigger.

Our house is not perfect.  Just like the people who live within it are not perfect.  It’s lived in and battered but it stands (very) tall and strong.  And surrounding our home we have a white picket fence.  A boundary between us and the rest of the world.  The white picket fence of family life.

You never really know what goes on inside the four walls of a home, no more than you ever really know what someone’s internal world is like.  That we come together, form friendships and family, love and like one another in spite of that is a wonderful thing.  The white picket fence of internal life.

When I leave home I feel like I’m weaving a thread from an infinite ball of wool.  As I return home I spy our battered white picket fence and it all just feels right.

 

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