Give me my mountain.

I'm at a curious junction in life.  I'm reminded of my statements from the past about how I would handle certain things if they came.  Now I'm not sure where the road of life is taking me and I am haunted by the words. 
Yet Saturn is still a planet.  It's in the sky and I can see it in the telescope with a bit of effort.  It reminds me of a superintendent I had who told me that when things went crazy in his life, he looked out the window and as long as Poteau Mountain was still there, he was okay.  I thought "What will you do if you ever move?"  Yet I understand that having a non-variable is very important in navigating life.
I work very hard most days and though my age and physical limitations are quite obvious, I just keep trying to complete these things in my life.  There is so much to do.  Why don't I just stop?  It seems to be the non-variable that keeps me sane.  Yet one day, I shall have to 'move' away from the mountain of work.  The time may be sooner than later. 
I have a frantic need to set it all right, but only one me to hold up the other end of the board while I put it together (an analogy).  Into it, I try to interject a little fun so I will not be seen as the drudge I really am.  But there is always one more board, one more screw, one more block, one more bag of cement waiting.
I want to paint and write and sculpt and dream up new recipes, but fun is not my fun.  It becomes one more need nagging my mind.  "You must have fun with them so they will have decent memories of you when you are gone."   And no, having them haul a bucket of rock down the hill or hold a board while you screw it in place is not appropriate fun.
When we bought this place, we did so for two reasons: it supplied me a studio space with a separate entrance and the hill was phenomenal.  Oh the hill.  It held such dreams.  It would be a beautiful place to paint and study and pray.  But then it's really hard to enjoy those things when you're tipping sideways!  So came the lighthouse and the gazebo and a bench here and there.  The swing is made of two halves of an old trampoline so it will be stable on the hill. Hey, it works.  The pool was installed in the less graded part of the yard and needed decks.  We considered an inground, but that was going to be incredibly expensive.
Before we even bought it, we assessed the house and laid claim to visions and dreams.  We both wanted a place to entertain and interact with family, church and friends.
We needed a sunroom to house the plants.  Check. 
I needed a dirty area for clay.  Check. 
I needed a kiln room. Check.
The kitchen would have to be revamped totally. Check. 
The laundry area would have to be made more functional.  Check. 
A one car garage that could be driven through would have to be added.  Check. 
The back roof would have to be raised to let light into the dungeon of a living room.  Not yet.
And we would need a dedicated woodworking shop with a lot of storage.  Ah, not yet.
Bathrooms would have to be redone.  Not yet, (but we do have the stuff to do one of them and the floor tile for the other.)
And everything needs to be unique and attractive.  Well that's a judgement call, isn't it.
Each of these seemed important to the success of our living and the usefullness of our abode.  There are times I'd like to say "Just screw it."  But then it still needs done. 
Louis has heard a different siren.  But it still needs done.  We were both excited when we began.  Now the excitement has waned and the need has not.  If only. . . . When we. . .
I'm not saying Louis doesn't work on it still, but not for long at a time.  He has no heart for it anymore -and there is so much of it, he puts in a lot of overtime, and he has found a greater purpose. 
I've come to the realization that I must make tasks doable for myself if the work is to ever be completed.  We aren't rich people though we have been blessed greatly.  We still can't afford to hire out the parts I can't complete.  I'm doing my best to segment the work into what I can do and what I must have help with.  But it is an overwhelming mountain -and a lot of it is still there.  The once nice walled canopy that was set up to be a temporary storage solution is still out there deteriorating and being shored up in its weak spots - six and a half years later.
When Caleb was 80, his eye was not dim and his natural force had not abated.  He approached Joshua and said, I helped everyone else with their wars, now give me my mountain.  I am amazed each time I read it.  Today it fills me with pain.  I see that through our lives, we change one burden for another.  We escape one impossible situation by running into another impossible situation.  Sometimes I just want to pretend it's not there, but that's not my frame.  So I suck it up and set my jaw and to the echo of other people's good and bad comments, I put myself to it again.  It seemed a logical and doable task in the planning stages.  The need is still there so the strength must be.