The Little House

The structure dedicated to allowing my boy’s creativity to blossom has now become mine.  When Brian boldly crafted the vision, I balked.  To be honest, I felt that the original plans resembled an addition instead of a modest playhouse.  I nixed the idea of cable because that wouldn’t allow them to build on their own childlike curiosity.  It didn’t need heated floors because, well, it’s a playhouse and I don’t even have heated floors in my own home.  Somehow the structure with its covered porch and quaint replacement windows outgrew my boys.

Long before I was writing, the structure sat vacant until I decided it would be a satisfactory office.   Decorated with a clunky desk, I layered it with great intentions.  Those intentions resided there where they grew lonely and tired.  On occasion, when I was moved to set foot into my coveted oasis, I didn’t feel inspired.  Nothing about the space spoke to me.  Then one breezy June day a couple of years ago, I was nudged to clear out the bulky desk along with the empty intentions and repainted it.   I brought in cozy chairs that had been banished to the basement.  Added some personal items like a stylish lamp, photographs, and an area rug that gave it a cozy, cottage feel.   There is a screen door that has a latch that rattles when it closes.   The large Oak tree shades the structure from the harshness of the sun.   When I am in there, I feel like I have been transported into a different landscape.    In this haven, I can create, read, meditate, and, on occasion, I have been known to enjoy a glass of wine while catching up with a friend.    When I walk into this space, it feels like a warm embrace.    This little playhouse built to inspire my boys ended up doing the same thing for me.

 

 

 

 

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