BENTONVILLE — Much to my chagrin, my house hasn’t sold yet and my journey toward downsizing into the little house downtown keeps stretching longer and longer than I’d hoped.
I’m like a kid in the backseat of a car on a cross-country road trip, asking God every few minutes, “Are we there yet? Why aren’t we there yet? How much farther?”
And although I have not moved out of my house, a new family has already taken up residency.
A family of three, they’re nice folks and generally keep to themselves. The first time I spotted the youngest member, I was rude and readily dismissed him. In my defense, it was prior to coffee, eyeglasses and 7 a.m., so even though Baxter barked through the bedroom window at the little fellow, I mistook him for the neighbor’s gray cat.
Now, I sit watching out the window as two rotund little groundhogs play on the stoop of my potting shed while their mother basks in the sun.
Mama is built like a fireplug and you can almost hear the lyrics of “Brick House” echo from the woods each time she shifts her weight to get more comfortable. She’s mighty-mighty all right. And though I know I really should be finishing the laundry or cleaning house or preparing for my impending yard sale of 1980s prom dresses and a multitude of why-did-I-buy-these items, I simply sit here doing nothing.
But I quickly decide that it’s not nothing and, in fact, it’s something, maybe even a necessity much like food or shelter. In these moments of complete stillness, my mind drifts and I don’t try to reel it back. I watch and dream and view the world as I believe it was meant to be seen — slowly and in the present, so as to notice things that would have otherwise escaped me. In these moments, I really see.
I notice their amenities. Big Mama G has made a den large enough for her family, but not any larger than she needs. She’s shaped a basin out of mud to dam the water dripping from my air conditioning unit and she’s created two entrances, one on either side of the alcove under the shed. “Clever girl,” I think, shaking my head. “Indoor plumbing and a circle drive.”
The bluebirds have nicely outfitted a cedar birdhouse in the old oak toward the north side of my house. Just enough nesting material — not too much, not too little. A baby squirrel screeches on a limb several trees over from the family’s little leafy nest in the elm out front.
I notice no 5,000-square-foot dens, no cashmere nesting material, no latest gadgetry, no shopping bags bringing home even more items to put into already overflowing closets.
I see no mortgages, bonds, millage increases or higher taxes to accompany the excess. I see functionality. Purpose. The luxury of enough.
But they’re groundhogs and bluebirds. What do they know …
LISA KELLEY IS A WRITER, MASTER GARDENER, ANIMAL LOVER AND ALL-AROUND GOOD OL’ SOUTHERN GAL WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO PRACTICE LAW AND MEDIATE CASES IN DOWNTOWN BENTONVILLE.