OUTSIDE, LOOKING IN

My parents raised me to be humble. Selective. And, discreet. If things were going well, we didn't need to brag. And if they weren't, it was nobody's business but ours.

I remember as a kid asking why, since my parents are pretty religious, we didn't go to church on Sundays. My mother always replied, "Church is for the neighbors to know you believe in God. We pray, so God knows we do." It made perfect sense at the time. (Though I always suspected that sending me to catholic school for 13 years was a bit of insurance on their part.)

Our way of life has always been just my style. Modest. Simple to understand. Easy to follow. Until, of course, I started Meandering.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've struggled with deciding the events in my life that would make appropriate posts, and those that, as a Varela, undoubtedly would not. Frustrations with friends and family. Disagreements at home. Struggles at work and at school.

I'll let you guess from the number of recent posts where I landed in most—nay, ALL—cases.

Since we broke ground on May 1, the big hole has been a physical manifestation of the struggle between my public and private self. Every eye in the village trained squarely on the doings at 300 Cochran Road. Every wheel barrow of cement, every 2x4, a glimpse behind the curtain that is our life.

"You know those people walking their dogs or out for a run?" asked a woman that is also in the process of building a house in town. "You know they all sneak in at night to check the place out, right?" I had suspected, but I'd hoped it wasn't true.

So for three months, I've felt out of control and totally exposed.

But then today, things felt different. The siding is nearly done and painting is well under way.  All of the windows are installed, and—best of all—the doors in.

As I walked into what will soon be our mudroom, the house, behind closed doors, was warm and quiet. For the first time since this whole adventure started, the place really felt like home. And while I know, the super curious will still find themselves trying to peer in, I'll keep telling myself that from here on out, whatever happens inside is nobody's business but ours.

The big house

takes shape

with the help of friends.

PLANTING SEEDS

My mom and dad were practically kids—18 and 22 respectively—when they packed up their bags and left home to move to a totally new place. A mere 5,275 miles away. My husband Logan has lived everywhere from Salem, Mass to Greensboro, NC; Virgina to Georgia to Colorado to DC. For good measure, he even found the time to squeeze in two years in Russia Far East.

Me? I've managed to meander my way from NJ to PA to NY, with short stints in Florence and DC to boot. For the last 6 years though, I've put down some pretty deep roots in Vermont. Of course it's hard not to daydream about what other geographic adventures life has in store, but right now my wanderlust leads me in one direction. Specifically, one mile from our current house to the land on which our new house will grow.

November 2010

For over a year we've been working on house plans, meeting with the builder who by now is more family than GC, and answering the question, "So, when will you build?" with "Not till the ground thaws." The big dig, if you will, has always been comfortably out of reach.

But now, all of a sudden, it's March. Bizarrely, the sun just set on our third day of 70 degree weather. We spent the weekend clearing out the garden, riding the swings at the park, and taking long walks that inevitably led us to the same place: 300 Cochran Road.

Today we started the process of pulling our building permits. Friday we'll meet with our lender. Before we know it, the first shovel will hit dirt and home will take on a whole new meaning.

January 2012

And away we go!