Nested

My own artwork of stained glass tulips and a riot of Fall colors.

Just as I was grieving the view of Fall’s red leaves from my former duplex’s windows, outside my current front room windows a riot of color was developing. Walking through the house, I became deeply aware that my new residence was quickly becoming a cherished home, and I realized how happy I am to be living here. Joy has replaced apprehension; gratitude has overtaken loss.

Stranded for five weeks in a neighboring county (houseplants in tow), there were moments I wondered if my move would ever be completed. Taken in by a generous friend, I found shelter in her home with her four black cats (certainly not portents of bad luck—rather comforting bundles of unique personality). Lying awake the night before I was to make my final trip back to my new residence, I was serenaded with the haunting yet comforting hoots of a Great Horned Owl. Smiling, I chose to accept it, as some Native American cultures do, as a good omen.

Coming back to a partially unpacked home I began nesting in earnest. As things started coming together it still felt unfinished. No pictures hung on walls, no mirrors or art pieces mounted. Then one of my dearest friends and her husband showed up. For three weekends in a row, they came to help. A retired engineer, he hung pictures and mirrors with delightful precision while my friend and I created a gallery of family photos on the bedroom wall opposite my bed. Art pieces were carefully placed; my beloved cuckoo clock from my father’s hometown in Switzerland was mounted, its lilting call alive once again on the hour and half hour.

The side yard was tackled as well. You need your garden! they said and promptly went to work. All my cherished plants, picnic table, slider bench, garden art, chimes and mementos which had been amassed in one corner were distributed to make a lovely new area where I can relax outside. Enclosed by a tall fence my privacy is secured, and the yard is regularly alive with birdsong.

My daughter’s oldest son, who visits often and is slated to live with me after graduation from high school this summer, has provided indispensable help. At 6’2” he easily reaches places beyond my ability to access. Helping with not only practical tasks, to my delight he hung my colored, origami paper stars over my kitchen window. It’s where they belonged.

All has come together nicely. My wine rack now serves as a plant community, its greenery sustained by discreetly placed grow lights. My office/art room is cozy and functional. The final pile of unpacked boxes by the patio doors is gone, replaced by a space where I can put up a small Christmas tree.

As it’s been said, “It takes a village . . .” and mine is filled with wonderful people—friends and family who have lovingly stood by me as I transition into my next phase of growing older.