|Our temporary slice of paradise.|
Also, like many people, change makes me twitchy. I make fun of my dogs for their slavish devotion to routine...as I sleepwalk through my morning Chemex coffee communion.
So you can understand my trepidation when I tell you that Ray and I are going to move over the summer. Not only are we moving to a different house, where we will live with my mom (imagine TWO of us Tucker women...I TOLD you Ray’s a gen-you-whine saint), but we are also moving from the country to the town. Honestly, we have loved this place so much that we feel like we should interview potential buyers to make sure they're "right" for the place. The thought of leaving here causes me to be short of breath and weepy, but I know in the long run it will be good for us, and here’s why…
1. If ever there was a household of people who should be closer to emergency medical care, it’s Stroke Girl, Heart Attack Guy, and Multiple Maladies Granny.
2. Moving forces you to take stock of your “stuff.” When keeping your stuff means cleaning it, sorting it, packing it, unpacking it, cleaning it again, and finding places for it, you really begin to see how much it weighs you down. Seriously, how long are you gonna keep your Pez dispenser collection? How soon were you planning to make homemade lanolin soap again? Do you NEED 75 coffee mugs if you use the same one every day? It can be a great release to let stuff go. Better yet, give stuff to your friends & family. Let them haul it around for a few years.
3. Moving reminds us that change is inevitable. Change keeps us from stagnating, and it dispels our illusions of control. It keeps us vital, engaged, alive (and tired, sore, panicky…).
4. We are all just tenants and caretakers on this planet. It has been a joy and privilege for us to live here among the peacocks, to plant things and nurse the land, to find galaxies in the black country sky. But it was never ours to keep. So, although letting our little dream acreage go brings its own kind of grief, we must eventually step aside and let others have their turn. And shovel 40’ of driveway. And cut & haul wood. And mow for 9 hours.
5. As my oldest son reminds me, people who live in town can run to the store for hummus and Beanitos at midnight in their Bullwinkle slippers if they want to. Not that they would, mind you, but they could.
6. Our new living arrangement is really just old-school congregate living. It’s the original “commune,” and though I’ve long-since burned my Marrakesh incense and crocheted halter tops, I always knew I’d end up in a commune. My grandma lived with and took care of her mother-in-law. My mother lived with and took care of my grandma. Torch passed.
7. This house might finally get cleaned. Might.
8. IT'S JUST A HOUSE. We can too easily become misled by our attachments. We make a mistake if we let a place become our identity, let a house and property become who we think we are. I am not my house. No matter where I live, I am.
These are all things I know in my fleeting moments of clarity & calm. The rest of the time, my stress level is at 923 on a scale of 1 to 10. Still, some part of me knows it will be okay. Just wake me up when the moving fairies are done, and I’ll run to Hy-Vee for wine, Beanitos, and hummus…