December 21, 2013 – I just love the snow and was up before the sun to enjoy the peace and quiet that snow brings to the Lower Mainland. In two ways.
One, because snow just does that, it muffles everything.
And two, Vancouverites cower inside in terror when the snow flies.
Winter just isn’t winter for me unless there is snow. And I don’t mean snow on the mountains, I mean snow on the streets, snow on the trees, snow on the rooftops, snow in our yard.
In our yard.
How weird does that seem to type.
And there sits our truck, in our driveway. That looks weird in type too.
And it’s in front of our garage. We have a garage. The truck doesn’t get to live in it since it’s filled with other toys, but at least the truck has its own driveway, it doesn’t have to live on the street, even if it does have to be scraped and brushed off when it snows now.
And those are our Christmas lights on our fence. Our fence….. That fence isn’t going to stay, but still, we have a fence, around a yard, and it will be replaced with a better fence eventually.
We still drive around and see the many places we looked at when we were searching, and of most of them we say, “I thought we’d end up buying in a townhouse complex like that, with little privacy, and neighbours too close for comfort.”
We never thought we’d end up with a yard that contained mature hemlock trees, 60 year old rhododendrons, and so much privacy that window blinds aren’t needed because absolutely no one looks in our windows anywhere.
We still pinch ourselves, and Kirk still asks “It’s real, right? No one is going to take this away from us, right?”
What a wonderful way to end the year. Last year I avoided Christmas almost altogether. I was so devastated by tragic events that I just wanted to do nothing more than turn off the lights and curl up into a ball in the corner and cry. Some of that feeling is still there, but I can fight it back most of the time. It seeps up, particularly when I think about Christmas and all those years, all those conversations, all those wonderful memories. It’s still hard.
But I know she’d be so happy with us being here, and even though she helped us get here, I’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have her back here with us.
So when I look at what an amazing place we managed to buy, she is part and parcel of it all. And although it makes me unbearably sad, it also makes me happy somewhere inside, because I know she’d be proud, and she’d be filled with a thousand ideas on what projects to do. And I’ll try to live up to that.
I’m cheating and using this for a two-fer since I am on a time crunch. (113 in 2013: #64 – Low Key)