Irreverent Eloquence

               The happy bungalow has been under renovations. I imagine that if these walls could talk they would say that construction has never stopped here. This house is over 100 years old, a story and a half with more stories than we could ever have time to hear. Rumor has it that it was built in a neighboring small town, along a block of houses just like it, whose street was destined to be razed 60 years ago. A developer bought some land in Marion township, new lots subdivided off and platted for single family living. Instead of the new little ranches that others were designing, a bit of ingenuity brought a handful of older homes into the neighborhood and transplanted them on full basements, juxtaposed every other amid the perfectly proportioned patio homes and ramblers. I'll tell you that mine is the cutest on the block by far, having maintained its leaded glass windows and open front porch with hipped roofline and Crasftsman style pillars, its original character makes i

 I got hit today. Usually I would say, "smacked upside the head" is the colloquialism that comes to mind, though I don't know that the imagery for it fits. Sucker punched in the heart may be more fitting though it certainly wasn't as physical of a sensation as that would imply.  Perhaps I should think of it more as a tripping. That I relate to infinitely more. I tripped over my Grief Stick.       Do you know that it is a walking staff? It's something I carry with me, proverbially of course. I can imagine what it would look like though, in my mind's eye. It's a weathered piece, washed over by waves, something salvaged on an old adventure, long forgotten, when I was younger and all I could see was its beauty and not the potential usefulness. And it has become useful in this life, been notched and grooved over a few decades of use now, many moves and countless years of intermittent strolls when I've leaned on it and worn it in places from being stored tim

Hmmm. How to begin. Again. Isn't that the quintessential question that I've been mulling for weeks.  How to continue an ordinary life with an altered trajectory and yet make it "begin again," with a vibrancy and fervor that lights the inner fire?    Some days it has been a wish, a quiet mantra for the sun to come out. And what a stubborn season this has been, the spring that was called for so long that never wanted to arrive. Some days it has been an external push, putting literal flame to scraps and detritus in a heaping pile in the yard, and standing too near to feel the heat and pressure of the old, burning away.  Maybe last night it was want of a spark, some static in the air and tension in the clouds and in our hearts. The thunder rolling in the distance called us to the porch after unexpected drama and discord threatened another evening of frustration. And there we sat and could just be, just us, waiting for the storm to come and anticipating nothing more for a

      The #hauserstrugglebuscompany regretfully announces the resignation of its original driver, Aksel Hauser. He will be chartering a new route with an alternate team and while we are happy that he has found enjoyment with his new crew, we are mourning our own great loss. Since partnering together in 2001, Aksel and I have enjoyed decades of intense friendship, an immense love and a deep respect for the work involved in creating the future of our dreams. His contribution to our lives has been beyond comparison. Since being married in 2006, we have launched many adventures in adulting, including homeownership and a love for renovating as well as building our family.  Daughters joined our family in 2008, 2009, 2012 and sons in 2014, 2015. While we suffered the loss of our first son in 2014, we were able to grow in grief together and we all appreciated Aksel's stalwart attitude as the safe harbor for the family during the heaviest storms.  Some of our grandest adventures with Aksel