On the nature of Serendipity
With every new place of residence, a whole host of fresh challenges manifest themselves- what do we do with the walls, do we want that hideous carpet, and 'how are we ever going to afford to upgrade this disaster of a backyard'?
Well, it had been several long years since our last true place we called 'home'. A place where to this day our children hold fond and lasting memories. And now, with all of them grown and gone, it now came to pass that my wife and I shared a nest alone.
Through a host of strange and curious coincidences, a home was found in the most unlikely of manners. Long story short, in the bleak gray throes of the end of winter, we drove past a drab, beige dwelling in the center of the city, not too posh, by any means, but not too ghetto as well. And the moment we slowly reconnoittered the street for any vestige of curb appeal, I caught a glimpse of a curious, multi-windowed upper room that spoke to me in the depths of my mind, and a warm glow of satisfaction that spread through my core told me that we were home.
Fast forward. At the time of this writing I have finished all but two areas of the downstairs, and am about to undertake the re-working of our tiny, singular bath. But that is not what this story is about.
I spent the summer and fall of the previous year meticulously weeding and re-seeding the weed farm that was the front yard, and under my wife's patient tutelage created something of beauty in the gravel parking strip and nurtured a glorious wildflower garden out of another patch of challenged earth.
Not bad. But early in the spring of this year I looked with utter dismay at the disaster zone that was our backyard. Weeds, overgrown fruit trees and about 20 yards of gravel strewn two inches deep were apparently the answer to landscaping of the previous owner, a 'gangapreneur'- who, had he taken as much care of his yard as he did his herbal investments, would have spared me the depressingly overwhelming undertaking I contemplated with every waking breath. But one strange, miraculous day in early April, something truly magical happened...
A letter arrived at my son's house, addressed to me, but with his address, from a holding company that was soliciting properties for sale. As it turns out, I had one, and had half-heartedly been trying to sell it in a severly depressed market for nearly six years. "This can't be real," I said to my inner, skeptical self, ever wary of all the pie-in-the-sky scams that were so prevalent of late. But my curiousity got the better of me, and thanks to the miracle of the Internet, within hours had 'googled' my way into discovering that the company in question was, in fact, totally legit. Wow. A few days later I had contacted the individual on the letter, had a lengthy conversation regarding my intentions and discovering his, and began to pursue the path of finally selling this piece of property. By the end of the conversation I had sugar-plum visions of showers of dollars to fund the stuff of dreams for my wife and children with this fortutious boon- but as you know, 'every silver lining has a cloud'. (But that sad tale is for another time.)
Anyway, it came to pass that the final settlement, while vastly, considerably lower than even my most conservative estimation, afforded me the much needed cash to accomplish a variety of things- new appliances (our washer was older than my eldest son- he's 26), some beautifully restored antiques, and my backyard. Granted, I was going to have to supply all the labor, but there is a profound sense of satisfaction in doing a job right. And being a fussy Virgo, I know all about what I want, and how to get it done. So I sat down at my desk, and began to dream...
A few days later, after much wrangling and negotiation with my wife, I had a general sense of what would come to be, a backyard oasis for my family and friends to enjoy for years to come. Now came the fun part. I had a plan, a budget, and the knowledge and skills to accomplish my goals. And about eight weeks to get it done. A back-breaking week of weeding (by hand), a solid day of risking life and limb in a skid-loader the size of a small tank, 7000 lbs. of hand-mixed concrete (more on that some other time), 2000 s.f. of glorious Kentucky bluegrass sod, and 420 s.f. of beautiful redwood decking later, I was done. In eight weeks, on time and on budget. Add an awning over the back patio (inspired by a drenching rainstorm during the decks christening), several dings and dents and a 'Harry Potter' scar on my brow as a testament to my efforts and... consummatum est.
But the moral of the story is this: At the time of this writing, I look back and smile inwardly (and even occasionally outwardly) at the strange and serendipitous workings of the Universe, the very stuff of what my books are all about. By some odd miracle, it came to pass that the very same company that purchased my land, by somehow picking up on my innermost wishes, purchased the other lots from our inherited estates. And in one fell swoop, this unimagined angel alleviated my youngest sister's overwhelming debt and responsibility of administering the estate, gave my middle sister a chance at a life of her own, unburdened by the harsh realities of life that she had endured for so long, and granted me a welcome and unexpected boon. And all in time for Christmas. And now, as we stand on the precipice of a new year, I am reminded of a saying of mine that I immortalized in the books which I write...
Serendipity (truly) happens.