I don’t really look back. It’s a waste of my energy. I let the good stuff propel me forward and I do my best to let the bad go. And every so often a mixture of the both will come back to visit. I say hello, learn what I can, and brush myself off. And nostalgia, well, that’s the same thing. I mean it happened. It’s over. Glad we had fun. Glad it was good. But you can’t live in the past. Even though, every so often I get nostalgic.
I miss my old house. It was home. But I’m also glad we are free of it. To say that the house was labor intensive and required bags of money to maintain is to say that this winter Boston just got some snow or Donald Trump’s hair is just a little weird—it’s an understatement. However, despite all the work and money, the backyard was my oasis. When Spring is in the air I remember my love hate relationship I had with it. Oh the yard work… We didn’t buy bags of mulch–we had a truck come with it. We didn’t devote a day or two to ridding the yard of winter–we spent weeks and by the time we finished we had to start over. It was back breaking. It was expensive. And it was like a Mediterranean oasis. Also, if you peered closely enough into our pool you could see hundred dollar bills lining it. If you jackhammered beneath it you would find thousand dollar bills–I know this because I paid thousands of dollars to have it jackhammered. My babies grew up in that pool–and pooped in it. I scooped poop, turtles, and kids. I combatted hurricanes and nor’easterswater resulting in many a dark and drenched trip to the edge of the pool to drain water from it before it overflowed.
Despite it all it was good. My back and my wallet are glad it’s over, but my heart still aches.