My Love is on the move again. He is moving his organization into Seattle next week. I anticipate that our family is not far behind. For the moment however, I stand firmly with two feet planted in the dirt. I don't know what is going to happen next. I do know that I would like to stay planted for a little while more. It is not nostalgia. For, while planted, I do not take the time to contemplate the past and its memories. It is not laziness. For while standing at the crossroads I am more than willing to participate in all the tasks that need to be done in order to take the plunge over the edge. And it is not lack of strength. For I know that when the time comes I will muster the strength of lions.
For me, it is about place. I have accidentally memorized the flight pattens overhead and can predict weather changes based on these flight patterns. I could tell you the exact month of each year by the foliage that surrounds me. I don't need a bus schedule to know when the next bus will arrive. My floorboards creak in all the right places. I have discovered each wind chime and can name its owner in a two block radius. With my eyes closed, I can walk to the nearest Starbucks. I can tell you which park is best to visit in the rain. I love to listen to the fog horns early in the morning; the trains at night. There is a blue jay that visits me each year. I can --without pause, be at each kid's bedside within 3 seconds of hearing their first nigh time cry. I can identify all the islands and call them by their right names. There is a clear North, South, East and West that is part of my being.
Being planted in this place, my life has not been without change, transition, hiccups and having to make the most of the moment. Leaving the Christian faith, struggling through college, getting married, transitioning into new jobs, getting into shape, falling out of shape, trying so hard to get pregnant, having a child, being laid off, the new dynamics of "family life," giving birth to another child who wasn't able to breath and having to wonder if any of it was worth it, the relief of hearing her first cries, quiting my job and learning how to be a better mother and wife are just a few of my transitions. These transitions were made without a clear understanding or indication of what might happen next.
In 1989 my parents moved us from one house to the next. Just a couple blocks away. Nothing changed for us; except for my place. From age 5 to 12 years of age I breathed and dreamed of only this place. Even moving just a couple of blocks seemed like a foreign country. I would never be able to run my fingers across the smooth stone wall of our "secret passage" that allowed my sister and I to transverse our block in half the time. The "money trees" that grew in our alley would not follow me. I would never again sit on the street curb after a summer rain and splash my feet in the mud. Or lay down on our front lawn to gaze up at the tallest tree waving in the wind. My feet had memorized every foothold in every climbable tree and I would never again smell the bluebells growing on the side yard. This place has held an organic earthly spell over me ever since. I never did climb another tree. It was a different place.
The new place though had a wonderful park with the longest fire poll ever attempted by a 12 year old and a great walk every week to buy jelly bellies and milkshakes with my lovely sister.
I have been planted here in this town (my small place) for the past 30 years. It has supported me, grounded me, cheered me up, given me confidence and carried me through it all. Will a new place carry me? Our lives do not usually follow the path of a storybook. I have always loved reading the last page of a fictional novel before I start a book. I can critique it even before the story begins. I know the ending. I am reassured and stay that way through the entire novel. I cannot read the conclusion of my life. I can't even skip ahead a few chapters. Not having my own place to rely on makes it that much more of a mystery. There is no backdrop.
Being uprooted, means that I need to pack a little extra dirt for the ride.Thankfully I have along a good gardener that can replant me when we get to where we are going. And maybe that is really what it is all about. Backdrops will change. The only thing left to carry me is My Love's devotion and adulation towards me and our adorable children. And isn't this a better place already?
Passing Time by Maya Angelou
Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
sure beginning.
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
sure beginning.