The dawning of a new day a is a gift that unwraps gradually. A new year is upon us, spread out like an enormous blank canvas…one that deserves some deep reflection before we start painting.
For the first time, we took down our Christmas tree before January 1st. Winter here in the northeast has been slow to arrive, and the balmy outside temperatures have made it difficult to hang on to the ‘Winter Wonderland’ thing.
With the tinsel and Santa stuffed safely in the attic, our home suddenly became simple and uncomplicated…a perfect atmosphere for fine-tuning goals and aspirations for the new year.
I make big decisions slowly, and I don’t like surprises, (except puppies and kittens), unless I know about them beforehand. I have to try on change until I know in my gut, it makes sense for me.
But new years always involve change, invited or not.
Changes are happening in our town. Some would say time marches on. I wouldn’t.
Demolition signs are appearing with greater frequency. You’re driving down the road, and where a beautiful proud home stood yesterday, now there is the shock of nothing…an empty hole. This is followed by a year of frantic activity, watching something cold as a stone rise from the ashes.
Here is the original 1770’s home.
Then the demolition site, and now, below, an enormous house.
Below, a graceful and inviting entry that led to a beautiful home that disappeared overnight.
Here’s what replaced it. Very new.
When did we, as a town, maybe even a society, decide history and tradition are not as good as “new”? It’s even worse when the landmarks of who we were, and where we came from, disappear without a whisper.
You can build a house, but you can only make a home. The developments so powerfully depicted in Spielberg’s ET and Poltergeist, were sad evidence of this. Rows and rows of identical houses. No yards, no trees.
I never want to live in a place like that.