Today, I Am Grateful For:

dear friends who road-trip there and back again….in one day
soft quilts that hold my history
movies under the stars
Jean Valjean
cats who miss you so much they’ll willingly snuggle at 11pm
cool sheets and ceiling fans


“Never Give Up on Something You Think About Every Day”

I saw that quote on Pinterest last week, and it’s been sticking with me ever since. I wondered what I thought about every day–where does my mind(heart) go when I’m daydreaming? When I’m unfocused, or drifting off to sleep, or waiting in the vet’s office?

Home. It goes home.

I know I’ve posted before, about my dream for my own little homestead/farmhouse, of my longing for orchards and cows, chickens and pastures.

But this is a little different.

Because this time it’s real.

Real as in it could happen, in as little as a few months. Austin offers a wonderful guide to home-buying class, absolutely free of charge. I took it, and it was revolutionary–extraordinarily helpful. And now Friday I go to meet with Janice, the teacher, for a one-on-one so she can go over all my financial documents (which I have been diligently keeping for a while now!) to make certain I can dive in. As in–BEGIN THE HOMEBUYING PROCESS.

Because directly after my appointment with her, I’m meeting with my realtor. That’s right. You read that right. I have a realtor. And we’re going to look at my very first house.

Let’s all take a deep breath here. Because that kind of knocks the breath out of me to type that.

The house I’m going to look at isn’t very large, and it’s a little farther north than what I would like. But I’m trying to test the field out, to see what my money will buy me, to see if my dreams aren’t┬áridiculous and far-fetched. What I like about this particular house, the one that finally made it from the computer screen to the curb is that makes this whole thing seem real, not like yet another unattainable dream. THIS is a house I could reasonably purchase, THIS is a house I can see making into MY home. I’m not saying this is the One, but that it makes things seem like it could actually happen, which is something I’ve been wrestling with. It isn’t enormous, it isn’t manicured, it doesn’t have a large price tag. It’s laid-back, kinda crazy, needs some work and love–me as a house, essentially.

I love the ideas I’m having about my own place. The daydreams I get lost in. These aren’t specific to any one house, but to that “someday soon” place. Yes, another list of dreams! ( I certainly love my lists)

IKEA hacks for faking built-ins for a library.
An adorable painted vintage bed with a patchwork quilt tucked in tight for guests.
A sewing table in the spare room where I can leave my machine up and projects handy, instead of grudgingly tucked back inside the two foot storage closet.
I’d install a kitty door for the cats on the backdoor.
Building a greenhouse on the south side of the house, made of old windows and doors.
Rosebushes planted at the foot of the front porch.
Dinner parties under a lit pergola overgrown with night-blooming jasmine and orange blossom.
A stove/oven big enough to cook real french bread loaves, and to use my big water bath canner.
A three-part compost center, right next to the wormery.
My own washer and dryer, i.e. never paying for laundry in quarters again, i.e. washing my sheets and towels more often.
Rain barrels at the corners of the roof.
The clothes line that would stretch through the sunniest part of the yard.
A hand-built brick oven by said pergola.
A little chicken tractor, for the three or four laying hens I want to keep. I would just love me some fresh eggs, as well as someone to eat all my garden leftovers.
And of course, the massive garden that would take up most of the front AND back yard. Raised beds brimming with green goodness, grapes and pole beans vining up the recycled fencing, a row of tire towers for the potatoes.

My heart is so full of longing for these joys. I know there are so many other things that would come into home ownership too: when things break, I, not my landlady, is responsible for fixing them. I am responsible for trash pickup, for all utilities, for a burglar alarm, building codes, and property taxes. But I’m willing to bet they aren’t nearly as horrifying as the thought of staying cooped up in 400 square feet for another year or so because I’m too scared to take this chance.

Evolution of Pilates

Before Pilates:

Look how toned all these women are. I bet it’s because they do pilates. Therefore, once I do pilates, I too will look like that.
How hard can this be?
I cannot wait to be as toned as they are.
This circle thing is so cute.
Only 3-lb weights? I do much more than this in Bodypump.

During Pilates:

When did 3-lbs get so damned heavy?
There is no. freaking. way.
I hate Her.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
I give up.
Maybe being fat and unhealthy for the rest of my life wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Maybe I should take my socks off.
Nope. Still hard.
How is this legal? I thought torture was banned.
No one has ever died from doing this.
How sure of that are you?
Oh God why do I do this to myself??
Maybe I cant do all of them but I can do at least one…tw–no…ok thats it
There is no finish line–there is no deadline to being able to do all of them.
This is your life–go at the pace best for you.
One day you can do all of them. Just not today.
Shit. That’s…I’m never going to be able to move that again.
I cannot do this. Oh god I cannot do this.
Is the clock broken?
She’s got to be kidding. She’s not. Oh god.
Seriously-is that even possible?
Ok, so better than last time.
We did not do that last time. How can She expect us–we did not do that last time!
She’s not lying.
One day this will be worth it.
I’m going to be so pissed if this doesn’t work.
She’s superhuman.
Why does everyone else look like this is so damned easy?
You people make me sick.
Groaning is necessary to making it feel better.
I can either breathe, or do this scissor kick, but not both. Pick one.
Who cares what She thinks? Let Her judge. She don’t know me!
Why do I keep coming back?
I’m never coming back.

After Pilates:

I cannot move this.
Just leave me here to die. Tell Jon to feed the cats.
Why are my LEGS sore?
I can’t bend over to put my shoes back on.
All my muscles are jelly.
My belly is so sexy now.
Is that…MUSCLE??
I am a slim and sexy Arabian princess/belly-dancer.
Never mind. No I’m not. Jiggle still there.
I am a taut and toned tigress. Watch out because I am a badass.
Why are my RIBS sore??
Stop making me laugh!
When will this ever start to show?
She’s like my own personal trainer! I love Her classes!
I wish I could go back tomorrow.

And then it starts all over again.