As I lay here in the middle of the night, I can hear the creek’s up. We’ve had a lot of rain the last few days…better rain than snow as far as I’m concerned. I’ve had enough snow in my forty Colorado winters to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. The rain has stopped for the time being. Too bad. I love the sound it makes on the tin roof of this old farmhouse. From a gentle tapping to a deafening roar, there’s nothing quite so wonderful to sleep to than rain on an old tin roof.
There’s something special happening to me as I live in my grandma’s house. It’s as though the hands of time are turning back…not literally, but my attitudes have shifted to match the rhythms of farm life. There is something sweetly innocent about this house and it’s breathing through my heart and soul. This creek…this rain on the tin roof…it’s the music of my childhood. How many nights did I visit grandma’s kitchen…my worn, flannel nightgown brushing my ankles as I sat on the folding red metal kitchen stool eating jelly bread before bedtime? How many nights did I snuggle up to my mama in the metal bed upstairs in the girl’s room listening to these same night sounds? I hear an owl…a deer browsing through the brush along the creek…the gas stove in the bathroom kicking on.
This is as real as I have felt in a long, long time. This home holds no pretense. It is a humble affair of rough-sawn timber…poorly insulated. The bedroom walls upstairs are really nothing more than cardboard with wallpaper over it. It originally rested on stacks of rocks as a foundation with no indoor plumbing. Along the way, it gained a basement and water. But it’s still such a simple home. I can feel it’s pulse.
If there is anything I strive for these days, it is authenticity. I haven’t always been authentic…true to myself. Living at my roots…my source…has put me in touch with who I really am. And I am anything but vanilla. I’m two inches of frosting with rainbow sprinkles. I’m tutus and cowboy boots…tiaras and glitter. I’m an enigma, to be sure. I want to live unapologetically. I agree with Iris Apfel, fashion you can buy, but style you possess. I didn’t always march to my own drum, but losing Mr. Virgo has given me license to be authentic…in my grief and in the way I live my life. My grandchildren roll their eyes at some of the things I wear out in public. This is good! I like showing them it’s ok to be bright and shiny when you age. I want them to know you don’t have to go quietly into the good night. I want them to remember me in a big way. ❤️
“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.””
John 8:32 NIV