It made me giggle. But then, in my oddball brain, I began to worry… Exactly to WHOM should I yak it forward?? I have several blogs that have become a part of my reading routine, and I feel a sense of Polish loyalty to them all.
But as I was sipping and meandering, I came across a new blog that I know will become a favorite. I want to introduce it this morning.
It’s called Lilac Lane Cottage, and I clicked my way there because of that name. I have a name obsession about which I will yak at a later time.
It is the story of a recently purchased country cottage… down a lilac lane no less… in Kansas. The story is just unfolding so I’ll get to read every exciting detail of the cottage journey. I am already enchanted by it all!
Because this couple is living my dream.
I long to restore an old place in the country. This has been my dream for years, but as my girls got older (and so did I), it has become the Incredible Shrinking Fantasy… going from an old plantation house to an old Victorian to an old farmhouse. It currently resides in a little old cottage…
At the rate I’m going, it will end up a play house in the back yard.
My imaginary cottage even has a name. It’s called Pine Knoll, aptly named for the piece of paradise which guarded the playground at my elementary school. It was a wonderful little enchanted forest into which we were forbidden to explore. We could play in any schoolyard cranny, but we were not allowed to meander into Pine Knoll.
This, of course, made ME want to meander there all the more.
Actually, I grew up thinking that this pine tree paradise was named “Pienole”. I wasn’t sure what a Pienole was… I thought it was an old Indian word or something. I remained completely blond on the subject for decades, and then…
I was browsing through a scrapbook and saw a picture captioned “The View from Pine Knoll.”
Pine Knoll? It’s Pine Knoll? I thought it was absolutely poetic and have longed for a Pine Knoll of my own ever since. Living in southeast Georgia, we don’t have much in the way of creative topography. But a knoll, we can manage. And the pines? Oh please...
So as we travel down the adventure roads, I keep an eagle eye out for my Pine Knoll. Of course, on Debbie Drive, you don’t have to actually see Pine Knoll to discover it. If I spy a windy little path sneaking off into the woods, I proclaim to the car, “I’ll bet there’s a Pine Knoll back in there.”
If I spy a tumbled down old house, I dub it.
Look! It’s Pine Knoll.
Of course, the husband rules from the left side of the brain. He likes to carry that travel mug of cold water down my adventure roads and pour it all over my imagination.
He will say, “Deb-or-ah, there are no pines… and there is no knoll.”
And I reply, “I shall haul in some dirt. And I shall plant a tree. It’s not rocket science Mr. Party Pooper.”
You see, this is the desire of my heart… emphasis on the possessive pronoun there. It is not shared by the rest of the family. The other three are perfectly content here in Piney Stick Flats, and they do not feel the old house love.
Recently, we toured a minimally restored Victorian. I was delighted. After yakking my way through room after room, I dropped into the car seat and started, “Now that’s my dream…”
And The Practical One, finished “…and our nightmare.”
She inherited her smarty pants from her father.
But as the chicks leave the nest, I am left with only the husband to win over. I keep telling him to get aboard the dream train. He gives me a long suffering smile and assures me that he indeed prays about my Pine Knoll. If he says he does, I believe him.
But I am positive that each prayer ends with something like this: And Father, you know my Debbie and the desires of her heart. Please change them. Amen.
I’ll try to find some pictures to illustrate this post. In the meantime, just detour off Debbie Drive down Lilac Lane. And pretend that you see pine trees.
And a little knoll.