We just finished moving, and hope not
to do it again for about 400 years. Everything about it is
Three weeks before the move, I’d
already lost books, clothes, and files I still needed every day.
They were lost a sea of enormous, overstuffed boxes and in the trunk
of my car. The trunk of my car was designated for “very important
stuff,” which ended up ranging from tax information to lemon
zesters, a Christmas wreath, and shoes I haven’t worn for three years. We
vowed to plan more precisely moving forward.
All precision-planning hell broke
loose during the week of the move. Many, many meals consisted of
fingers dipped in jars of peanut butter and hummus. Everything else was in boxes. I knew we’d survive this move the night we had two
kinds of hummus and find some crackers to go with it at the new
house. We had no utensils and no plates, but felt super-confidently
competent. I feel we could organize a G8 summit now.
During the first night at the new
house we wander around like newcomers to a dementia ward, staring at
blank walls and forgetting where the bathroom is.
We’re exhausted and not
particularly happy. But before we can crash for the night on our
mattress on the floor, I soak a dishcloth in warm water in the
kitchen sink (can’t find a bucket, can’t find a mop, can’t find
soap), and begin wiping the living room floor. It takes forever after a full day of wet, muddy boots dragging loads of furniture in.
I want a clean floor.
I do this because tomorrow morning, first morning
in this house, I want yoga. I want Downward Dog, I want forward
folds, I want Saddle, I want Boat, I want Bridge, I want Savasana. I could scream, I want it so badly. I want
In the morning, in the dark, I bang
into one wall looking for my socks and T-shirt. Another bang into another
wall where our bathroom door used to be.
Several bangs later, I’m on that
clean floor, hands to heart, breathing an Om out to this new home.
Thanks, thanks, to yoga for curing
homesickness. Thanks to my lovely man for enduring the move with me.
Thanks to you for the conversation,