If I had a million dollars

I'd be rich!

Now that I am aware of this particular part of my personality, my frustration has made so much more sense.

When I was a little girl (maybe 8 or 9) I remember my Dad taking me with him to the lumber yard that my Grandpa Rex owned (Copeland Lumber). I don't remember many of the details of that specific trip other than my Dad's purchase of some fine pieces of pine lumber that he was going to be using for one of his many creations.

Dad was a working man despite his physical setbacks. A veteran of the Vietnam war found him back in the States and partially paralyzed. That didn't hold Dad back though, he spent most of his time in the garage which doubled as his wood shop. There was a chop saw, a jig saw, and a band saw. All of which he used to make many different wood works. I remember, he used to make rocking chairs and ironing boards that converted into a step stool. Dad was the carpenter, Mom was the toll painter. Together they made pieces of furniture that they would sell at local craft fairs.

This wasn't my first time to the lumber yard. I would often go with Dad while he carefully inspected various sizes of wood, carefully looking down their length to make sure there wasn't too much of a bend or bow in it. After the perfect pieces of wood were chosen, Dad would take load them, and me, into the truck and head to our home far from town but not until we made a special trip to McDonald's for a happy meal and a little one-on-one time eating it in the parking lot.

Back to this particular trip to the lumber yard. I remember as I was waiting by the cash register for everything to be finished up seeing this bundle of picket fence posts. I decided right then and there that I needed to have that bundle of 24 inch posts and that I was going to create something wonderful and exciting just like Mom and Dad did. And even though I had no idea what I was going to use them for, bless his heart, Dad bought me the posts to make begging and whining stop. What 8 year old girl begs her dad for a bundle of wood? Apparently, I do.

When I got home, I immediately knew what I was going to do with my new purchase. I found scraps of wood from Dad's shop, drug them out into the yard, and built a fort. I then took my picket posts and a hammer and made a perimeter fence around my new home. I liked the idea of having my own special, secret place to go. Even though it wasn't a realistic structure that had much function, it was mine, I made it with my own hands, and it was magical to me. I played in my own special place for days and days until I found a new item that beckoned my creative brain to bring it to new life.

The fort and fence stayed standing for about a week even though I found it to be rather boring now that there was something new to do. Eventually Dad took it down so he could mow the lawn and I can't say it hurt my feelings.

Tonight I found myself dreaming about Merida Yucatan in Mexico and I realised that my life has had so many incidences of picket fence posts. It's not bad or wrong to create something and then move on. I don't have to camp out or live there. It can be temporary for me.

I am not moving to Mexico. Though I found myself looking at homes online and wondering what wonderful thing could I create from these raw, rustic homes in a beautiful, vibrant city? What kind of special place would be waiting for me? The more I dreamed, the more I longed for it.

I retrospect, I really didn't need the picket fence posts. But the idea of leaving that lumber yard without them crushed me. I just knew that if I didn't get that wood home to my house, I would miss out on the chance to have something great.

But now I am learning that I don't have to act on every dream and idea that comes to mind and it is okay to leave them there, for someone else to discover. In my own addiction, I must pray my own prayer of serenity:

God grant me the serenity
to dream the dreams You have given me;
courage to chase the ones I should;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Amen

Homes currently for sale in Merida,Yucatan Mexico: