The Clock is Ticking

We only have ten days left here in Ontario. My excitement is matched only by my fear.

There is nothing like packing up your entire family, moving them to a new place they've never been, where you don't know a soul, except the real estate agent that helped you to secure your new home and the daunting task of putting your business ideas into action to make you feel alive.

Possibility

Detail of a house in Shelburne, Nova Scotia

When Brad and I were just dating and still in college, I used to spend a lot of time driving from Waterloo to New Hamburg. I had a regular driving route but every once in a while, when I was feeling dreamy or nostalgic, I would drive through Baden to get there. Almost in the middle of that small town was a really rundown property. The grounds were large and so overgrown that you could hardly catch a glimpse of the mansion held inside. The house itself was in need of a lot of care. The paint was a drab grey, fading and peeling rapidly. The windows had curtains that never moved and although I didn't sit out front and stare for hours on end, I know that the windows were never opened. I imagined the air inside to be stale and musty. I always drove by at night and there were never any lights on. The iron fence that surrounded it was bent in places, rusty and would probably need to be scaled in order to gain access. I'm not sure if these recollections are true or not but that's how the house exists in my head and I loved it. I loved that house.

The house was bought by the town shortly after we finished college and an unlimited amount of money and resources were thrown in its direction. It has become a pristine example of early Ontario architecture and design. It's beautiful now but I don't love it anymore. I don't like to drive by it and I don't fantasize about it like I used to. I drove by it last weekend and realized something very important about myself. I am in love with the possiblity. I was in love with that house when it was a neglected shell because it engaged my imagination and gave birth to dreams I wouldn't have otherwise thought of. Now that it's finished and its path defined, those dreams and ideas are gone and the house holds nothing for me.

People have often asked me how we could possibly leave our house when we've just finished all of this work. I always had a hard time explaining myself but after seeing that house in Baden I can explain it perfectly. Our house was full of possibility when we bought it. We gave birth to dreams we wouldn't have otherwise thought of. We put our imaginations to the test. We have turned it into something that we love but it's finished now. It holds no more room for imagination or experimentation or boundry breaking. It's done and I'm ready for new possibilities.

We're going to be moving into a big, beautiful, Victorian house in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. It's a house that will be perfect for dreaming and imagining and boundry breaking. I'm excited and I'm in love with the possibilities this holds for all of us.

Well now, that’s annoying.

I've lost the lens cap for my camera and I can't find it anywhere.

Leaving Messages

The girls and I painted an army of love rocks, loaded them into our bike baskets and then headed to the streets. We delivered over forty rocks to various hidden and not-so-hidden locations in the hopes that someone who really needed some extra love would find one. We put them on fence posts…

on sidewalk barriers…

even on an abandoned window sill.

The best part was watching the girls' reactions on our way home when they realized that some of them had already been "found."

Dark Horse

With my camera as my only distraction, I spent half an hour by myself at Dark Horse Espresso Bar. Heaven.

Tabletop reflections.

This maple and oat scone was the perfect companion to my hot apple cider.

I'm a sucker for a pretty chandelier.

Bowling alley floor turned tabletop.