restoring the used to be

I drove to San Antonio this last weekend to visit son and family in their hundred year old Sunday house. It is being restored to live-a-bility inches at a time. The neighborhood dangles "promise" before their eyes, being in such a close in location amongst other promising to be restored houses and some that are. There are roosters that crow at 4 am. Dogs that are horribly tethered up the street who bark a lot (who could blame them), loud music from open pickup truck windows and there are shady characters doing shady things on sunlit street corners.

In the midst of this is my son's house, beginning to rise from the dead. The tall ceilings are elegant as are the deep wood moldings and the the restored floors. You have to have long eyesight and faith to do what this family is doing. Is it really very different from homesteading among the wolves and bears of long ago? My bones are too old to contemplate such an endeavor, but I relish what my son and his family are doing. It is difficult, but it is beautiful to my eyes.