Instead, I have been dwelling — some might say obsessing — on the idea of putting a swimming pool in my back yard. If you follow this blog, you will see that there is a new header for the project. As a side note, it’s nifty that I can brag in a public forum about how awesome our house is without worrying that I am coming off like a jerk — one the one hand, great house, and on the other hand, bad cancer. The scales of life don’t remotely balance, and if I’m incredibly lucky, which I am, it is because I am alive. The house is 99% frosting on the lucky cake and 1% our hard work.
As I have mentioned on this blog, we live on a creek. Our yard is a giant steep hill with stone terraces, and underneath the hill is solid rock — either an engineering challenge or an engineering nightmare. Or you could say, as the first pool guy to look at our property last summer did, “Mrs. Rose, this is a beautiful yard and you seem like a very nice lady, but you are crazy if you think you can put a pool here.”
I emailed my wonderful real estate agent about the pool project — I don’t like to buy bathmats without consulting her — and she emailed me back with the name of her pool company and then called to tell me to go for it, and to go big or bust.
Pool Company is sending out Pool Guy, their “challenge accepted” pool expert, a landscape architect/pool design professional who has been winning awards since before he could shave. The meeting is on Monday. I’m hopeful.
It’s going to be expensive. We’re going to fund it with a combination of financial trickery and carving the rest out of our food and household budget. What’s not to like about rice and beans? I can do it if I cook a lot of vegetables from scratch.
Why am I doing this? For beauty. For wellness. For peace of mind and stress reduction, and because our yard is interesting, but not useful, and I want it to fulfill its potential. Because I can. Because I want to. Because I want to live well.
I know I can do this. I’m good at managing projects. I’m persistent. I can work with people and keep on a budget and figure stuff out.
This pool is going to cost as much as cancer did. It’s going to be difficult. Sometimes, it will seem impossible, but it won’t be. I’m going to have to work with professionals who know much more than I do, and figure out how and when to trust them and how and when to back off and look for someone else who might know more, or know different. It’s going to be a work of equal artistry and science.
When it’s done, my life will have an entirely new dimension. I’ll find beauty in the simplest things. The whole idea of quiet time at home will be even more wonderful. The pool will nourish my inner life.
I can do this. I already have.