This is where I sat and dreamed of the house I would have. Every step of construction took weeks, so I came out here often, to read, and think and look at the woods. 

No one could see me back here, since I was way down in the future garage, sheltered by a 20 foot wall on one side. But I was so happy out here in my zero gravity chair, a book and some music.

More to come….maybe a year more to go. 

To get this far, I had to draw up this dream house in 3D, get it converted to blueprints, pick a contractor, OK their bid, get the bank to say OK to a 7% construction loan, get construction insurance, get permits, and sell our house on Martha’s Vineyard. There was no turning back, and no guarantee of success… and 365 ways to fail in the coming year… Each day I had to not fail, not let mistakes happen. A year of being stood up by contractors that never showed up, or made excuses, or lied, or got lazy.  A year of guys working so so hard, doing great work, carrying wood and cement, and iron bathtubs. A year of mariachi music, and broken Spanish, broken English.

But also a couple of years of no vacations, no trips, no leaving home, always on call, for the next shoe to fall. Once it was done, the pandemic happened. The good news was we had a nice house to live in, the bad news was, no more trips or traveling or seeing family for another few years…

After 18 months of this actual daily trauma & anxiety and fear and loss of private time, it took way over another year, to calm down again, lose the PTSD feeling that had build up over several years, and relax a bit, and be OK again.  Just to be in our house, with no strangers coming in at any moment of the day to work. To wash my hair, or go to the bathroom without wondering if someone would be at the door.

But, for a few days or a week or two, I’d sit in this lean back chair, and be astonished at what I was getting into…it was finally happening… I was controlling my future, sitting in my future garage.