Harsh reality and gritten teeth

This week the snow finally cleared.  The ice on the windows became condensation.  I could get dressed without the heater being on for 40 minutes first!  The coldest winter for thirty years and we move into the coldest house in Bradford!

But snow gives a beautiful dressing to everything, ice stops people coming to see you; huddled around the fire you don't venture into the rest of the house to see what needs doing.  This week the snow cleared and out of my office window I can now see the builders rubble, the plaster, the discarded cardboard boxes.  The over-grown lilac has lost its sparkling dressing and looks leggy and messy.  Without the Victorian Christmas look the porch looks less Dickens and more tatty tenement.  What will people think as they come to the door I fret? - They won't want to come to a birth resource centre looking like this?

And though the hall has beautiful pannelling it needs touching up and a polish, and as fast as I clear it up another lot of stuff is dumped by the front door on its journey up, down, in or out of the house.  The living room needs half a dozen boxes removed and just needs tidying up - and one of those Belgium-sized sofas removed.  Could anyone come here and believe this was a place to learn about birth and be nurtured in it?

And the therapy room - the fridge as the family call it - because that is what it is.  A gaping doorway into a once lovely Edwardian glass and wood extension makes this the coldest room in the house.  And so it has become the repositiory of all boxes and items without a home and not essential for immediate use.  And it feels empty and sad and in need of a coat of paint.  Could this be a therapy room where women are nurtured and loved, and where healing is offered? Could you see it and believe it?

I believe it, I know it . . .but will others see it and believe it too?  People who I need to come to the groups, facilitate the groups, provide the therapies, provide the funding?  Can they see it?  Could they come to a place with a scruffy garden with daffodils peeping through as scouts for the beautiful garden we will make  - could you?  Could you come and sit and learn in a big room that is beautiful but not finished - like when you wear a suit and then sturdy boots for the weather? Or your pretty dress has the stripes of a sickly baby?  Could people feel  comfortable with cosy but not yet posh? Could you?

And could a therapist see a beautiful but cold drab room and believe that this in 4 weeks could look pretty good and feel wonderful and 12 months be perfect?  Could they?  Could you?

This week I have faltered because the snow has cleared and the harsh reality on a dull wet day is that there is alot to do.  The house IS tatty and you can't replace all the windows of a Victorian Edifice for under £10 thousand pounds and we spent that on getting the roof weather proof and the cellar damp proof.  And my wild roses won't flower until June and we won't be cutting the trees until later in spring.

And my kind and honest friends - are they being really honest when they share my enthusiasm and say how lovely the house is and capture my vision and say everything will be OK? And that all it needs here is a coat of paint and there a sort out?

Sometimes realising a vision means holding on to your vision with gritten teeth, believing when the reality tells a different story, and just working task by task.  Sometimes only your friends can see the progress.  Sometimes you need a holiday.