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I've got an oriental rug in the cellar. It came with the house. It hid, tucked up into the ceiling in the old part of the house. I never noticed it during the final inspection. The previous owners left me a lot of treasures that way: original windows, doors, wiring, all stacked in dark corners. Why didn't I clean all that garbage out before I moved in? Well, I closed in January, so it would have been a pain. By the time spring came, I had moved on to other projects. Plus, it's a hassle to get rid of stuff like that.

I can barely keep up with the mandatory maintenance to the house and property. The fence and house need scraping & painting. Brush requires cutting. The barn calls for trim, planned but never executed when we built it eight years ago. My first year here, my grandmother asked me, "When will you have time to enjoy your house?" I had just finished enumerating my list of summer projects.Framing_4

My answer was quick, "I'm enjoying every minute."

I should have been more honest and told her that I didn't know. I still don't know. I certainly enjoy horses and dogs, and having friends stop by. I enjoy living in a place where parties happen, and where gatherings materialize. I don't enjoy having a list that never shrinks. I wish I had one spot, one place to rest my eyes that didn't have a project waiting.

Have you ever looked in the mirror and thought, "Is this me? Is this what I expected to be? When I'm looking out, do I understand that this is what other people see?"

What's the point of having a list?