I followed a beer truck today. I found myself right behind it as I traveled to Winterport to Rachel's house. It had the word "Heineken" painted in large letters across the back, and I, though a nondrinker, know enough of cultural things to recognize that this is a brand of beer.
Beer was my enemy for many years, because Ed is a recovering alcoholic. I say recovering, because that's what they tell us to say, but as he hasn't had a drink since 1984, I would say he has recovered. At any rate, I did some reminiscing as I drove a few miles behind this beer truck. I thought about life's many surprises, the unexpected twists and turns, things that make our lives turn out in the oddest, wildest, most incredible ways. One minute I marry an active alcoholic college dropout, and before I know it, I'm sleeping with a sober United Methodist pastor with a Master's degree. Go figure.
The move from Tennessee to Maine still has the power to shock me. One day I'm a pastor's wife, moving around from parish to parish, and before I know it, I live in Maine - Maine! - in a 3-story Victorian house and I become a medical transcriptionist. Whoa - when did that happen?
For that matter, I still can't believe I'm the mother of 2 kids! I can't believe I'm 52!
Oh, the things I have learned - things I never would have planned, but now I can't imagine life without them. At one point in my life, I learned to quilt. At another point, I learned to play the Celtic harp. This year I even went sea kayaking! All of these changes have affected my life in a substantial way. Some I faced with fear, some with excitement, some just with a sense of wonder.
The popularity of horoscopes and fortune-telling is evidence that some people have an innate desire to know their futures. Not me. I certainly wouldn't want to look forward to the bad things, and I wouldn't want to miss the joyous surprise of the good things.
And I'm still traveling. Not behind the beer truck anymore, but on the move nonetheless. Tonight is the last night we spend in our house, then we continue our journey in another location. Life is just full of surprises - and through gentle tears, I am smiling.
Who? Where? What? Why? How?
On an MT chat board I frequent, one participant is moving this week also. Her son had an accident - he dropped a pickle jar on his foot, severing a tendon, and after a trip to the ER, now has to see a specialist. Another MT responds: Someone once asked me what I thought hell would be like. I replied without hesitation, "It would be moving forever."
I can see that. Truth be told, we have been lucky, though. So far, no accidents or unexpected mishaps. A cost overrun on the new house yesterday, which originally would have run $2000, has been contained to $700, so that's somewhat of a relief.
So where's the hell? I think it in our sense of place, where we are, where are possessions are. The sense of discombobulation, disorder, disarray, disorganization, disturbance - I guess if you add "dis" to a word, I can use it.
I read an article in Good Housekeeping about a boy born blind and deaf. He goes to a special school where the first step of their daily routine is to get oriented. Each blind and deaf child comes through the door and stands with his/her back against a table. From that position, they all have learned where the various parts of the room are located, and therefore, feel comfortable and safe in their situation.
We are lacking that starting point of backing up to a solid object to get our bearings. Instead, moving is kind of like floating like a leaf - never knowing if you will land in the middle of the street or on the roof of a skyscraper. Our clothes are in boxes. My toothpaste has disappeared again. Every once in a while, I have to trudge down to the garage, our temporary storage area, and look through everything to find a certain box - either to retrieve something or add something to it.
On top of that, we are really moving twice. Once to Rachel's, once to the new house. Things have to be packed accordingly. This time next week, I'll have my first long commute. No telling what that will be like.
Ed likes to joke that for the next few weeks, we will be officially homeless. So that means we have the joy of mail forwarding. We forward our mail from Lincoln Street to Rachel's house in Winterport. When we get a new address and mailbox, we will simultaneously forward THAT mail to Rachel's. Then when we move in, we will have the Lincoln St. mail forwarded to our new house, and have any mail being sent to Rachel's (from various change-of-address forms I have filled out) forwarded to our new house....
Someone put a table over here. I need to lean against it!
I can see that. Truth be told, we have been lucky, though. So far, no accidents or unexpected mishaps. A cost overrun on the new house yesterday, which originally would have run $2000, has been contained to $700, so that's somewhat of a relief.
So where's the hell? I think it in our sense of place, where we are, where are possessions are. The sense of discombobulation, disorder, disarray, disorganization, disturbance - I guess if you add "dis" to a word, I can use it.
I read an article in Good Housekeeping about a boy born blind and deaf. He goes to a special school where the first step of their daily routine is to get oriented. Each blind and deaf child comes through the door and stands with his/her back against a table. From that position, they all have learned where the various parts of the room are located, and therefore, feel comfortable and safe in their situation.
We are lacking that starting point of backing up to a solid object to get our bearings. Instead, moving is kind of like floating like a leaf - never knowing if you will land in the middle of the street or on the roof of a skyscraper. Our clothes are in boxes. My toothpaste has disappeared again. Every once in a while, I have to trudge down to the garage, our temporary storage area, and look through everything to find a certain box - either to retrieve something or add something to it.
On top of that, we are really moving twice. Once to Rachel's, once to the new house. Things have to be packed accordingly. This time next week, I'll have my first long commute. No telling what that will be like.
Ed likes to joke that for the next few weeks, we will be officially homeless. So that means we have the joy of mail forwarding. We forward our mail from Lincoln Street to Rachel's house in Winterport. When we get a new address and mailbox, we will simultaneously forward THAT mail to Rachel's. Then when we move in, we will have the Lincoln St. mail forwarded to our new house, and have any mail being sent to Rachel's (from various change-of-address forms I have filled out) forwarded to our new house....
Someone put a table over here. I need to lean against it!
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