We are beginning a major construction project today. Our home was built in 1950, so it has, in the main, the hearty construction of the past, but a leak in the shower pan, which we didn't know at first, and then, didn't jump to fix, means that both bathrooms which are connected need to be completely dismantled. The one will be taken down to the studs. Both need a new floor, not just the fun, fancy part, a whole new floor. We're looking at two months, which probably means four. It may be obvious that I like order. One of my cats does too. She pooped in the living room today, as her way to let us know she is not thrilled with tools lying around the house. Things are not as usual.
As I say, I am excited about it in one way, and not so thrilled in another. Yesterday, I took Henry Nouwen's book, Reaching Out outside and sat down below with my redwood tree. I used it to find balance. I've read it before but it struck me differently this time. What was interesting was that the light was also striking me differently. We have 1/3 of an acre, so I have places I can go for sun or shade, but yesterday, because of the autumn slant, the sun was coming through the branches of the tree, and I was fully lit in my usual place of shade.
A friend died of breast cancer. She was my neighbor's best friend, and I saw her mainly on holidays when we would gather for a glass of wine. She got cancer when she was young, in her 30's, I believe, and she would fight it off, and back it would come. She was in every breast cancer study at UCSF, would drive from Sacramento for them, and went to every conference, so she knew with the doctors that absolute latest advance. She is with me today, as I think of how we fight for life, and how I let so many moments go by without noticing. My intention is to notice more of my moments, and to integrate them more deeply and fully into my life.