Pretty in Pink

This is my favorite house.

I love the aged pink stucco and the way the bougainvillea perfectly hugs the curved doorway.

There is always music playing. Always.

Sometimes the sound comes simply from the wind chimes that dangle from the backyard trees. Mostly though, it’s the sounds of the radio belting Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, Nina Simone, and once in a while a little Bruno Mars….because…who doesn’t love a little Bruno Mars?

A box of lemons frequently can be found on the street corner, with a sign charitably stating, “Free! Take some!”

For years I’ve walked by this home and turned my brisk pace into a slow jaunt as I admire it, absorb the sounds, and grin as I imagine the movement of life inside.

Not long ago, for the first time ever, I laid eyes on the woman who inhabits it. Who has created its essence. Small in stature, but with a strong presence, a knowing presence. A knowing that only comes from living life and experiencing all of its twists and turns. Her eyes, still warm and inviting, like those twists and turns haven’t hardened her.

I admired her the moment we exchanged a silent hello.

Around the same time, I spotted a “Notice of Demolition” sign near the front door. It was obvious to me then that her newly found visibility around the property, consisting of pruning, trimming, cleaning up, was in preparation for the home’s next chapter.

Her next chapter.

I’ve been watching the progress for a few weeks now. Most of the exterior walls have been removed, the possessions inside have been moved out, and the radio is no longer playing.

Although the home is taking new shape, new life, the faded pink stucco and curved bougainvillea at the front of the house remains intact.

And the wind chimes. The wind chimes still hang from the trees in the backyard and play a melody that makes me smile.

And I hope, I really hope, they always do.