I grew up in a small town with a big yard. Now I live in a big town with a small yard. Until recently my miniature property had a playhouse, purchased nine years ago at our kid’s grammar school’s yearly auction for a bargain price of $75.00. I am nothing if not a bargain shopper. I remember patting my savvy self on the back, until I read the fine print that you had to haul it out of the backyard of the family that donated it. GUESS HOW MUCH THAT COST–the non-bargain price of $500. I stopped patting myself on the back long enough to hit myself across the face. ALWAYS READ THE FINE PRINT.
Anyway, we plunked it in the corner of our little yard and, while Ally had just about grown out of it, it became a receptacle for colorful window boxes and antique watering cans and architectural salvage–an outdoor shed and adorable way to block out our view of the road behind us.
After more than a decade of New England’s kick-ass winter’s (don’t get me started on the winter of 2015, really do not, because you will be sorry) although spectacularly made, the little house began to deteriorate, and we had two choices–it could be torn down, or renovated. With no kids left at home, and grandchildren, a twinkle in nobody’s eyes, but my husband’s and mine, the only intelligent thing to do was to take down the house, but this because of all the blocking it did of the road, necessitated a renovation of our backyard. So, down it came, and at least five neighbors in my hood came up to me with an expression that said “We just buried our best friend and all our family members,” and out of their mouths came the same exact words, “The little house………”
Yes, the murder of the little house meant there were no more little’s at my address anymore. And the neighborhood took note. I was actually surprised how sad everybody was. Everybody, but me, the usual emotional barometer for all sad stuff. I knew I was saying goodbye to something sort of epic in our lives, but truthfully, I was just freaking excited by the prospect of my little yard becoming a bigger little yard.
We’re in the middle of creating life after the little house right now (and btw, when I say “we’re” what I mean is the fabulous Brookline-based, Faithful Flowers), but can I even tell you how awesomely amazing it already is, without even being done? Can I, huh?
Sometimes change sucks, and I fight against it and throw up my hands and sob my face off. This time, it was welcome, and maybe even overdue (and maybe I’m getting a little used to it). Gratitude for that. (WRITTEN ON MY NEW BACKYARD PATIO, LAYING ON THE COMFY COUCH, WITH THE SUN IN MY EYES).