Adam Tucker has been kind enough to include me in his Friday Author Question and Answer post. You can check it out HERE. Now for the continuing story of our search for a house, back in March of this year.
It was freezing cold and rainy the day we found out we were chosen to rent the house. When I told Maile we were moving I think she cried, at least a little. But then again, she cries over most things. Still, it was exciting.
We moved into the house, stepping over patches of old snow drifts that remained from the blizzard we’d had a few weeks before. But as the snow melted we found more things to be excited about – a patio with a fire pit; all kinds of rose bushes and early flowers pushing their way up through the cold dirt; paths through the woods. This was our new start. We were officially on our own again.
I remember the first day I walked up the stone drive to the large, three-bay garage. The wooden steps creaked as I walked up to the workshop. I put together my table, the same one I had worked from while we lived in England, and in Virginia. I looked out the window, stared into the woods.
I felt very much like I was about to do something very special, create something amazing, begin a life I would never want to end.
But after about thirty minutes the cold rendered my fingers numb and I could barely type, so I had to take a rain check on writing in my workshop. I headed for Angela’s Cafe and a nice cup of hot chocolate.
This is what happens when you gain the courage to leave your basement. Leave that semi-comfortable place and take a risk. Of course, you might have to face failure – there’s a very good chance we will run out of money; I might have to get a part-time job to pay the bills. When my kids get a little older they might not like the fact that we live in such a small place or can’t buy all the nice things they want.
They might not like that they get dropped off at their friends’ houses in a 1990 GMC Safari.
That’s okay, though. This is the journey we’ve chosen. And I’m hoping that they’ll appreciate the heritage I leave with them, even if it’s not accompanied by a huge inheritance.
To read the very first segment of this story, which tells about how Maile and I made the decision to move from Virginia to Pennsylvania (and into my parent’s basement) click HERE.