Autumn is nearly here. Days are cool, nights are colder, and I’m finally making our house a home for the first time in a year. That’s how long we’ve been back at our old address, the one we thought we were going to put on the market last summer, after which we'd decide where to travel next. For a couple of unexpected reasons (needed repairs we couldn’t afford just then) we decided moving back in was the only reasonable thing to do. After two years on the road, and as a surprise change in living arrangements, I had a hard time adjusting to being grounded again, so to speak.
It didn’t take long for me to be thankful for a bigger fridge that didn’t drip, actual counter space, washer and dryer under my own roof, separate rooms with doors that close, and for the boys to have space in which to spread out their toys and projects. Still, I had hoped to spend the winter back at Desert Rose Baha’i Institute (DRBI) in Arizona. It had been such a kind, healing time when we lived there in our RV two winters ago. I’d needed a quiet place to begin to heal from my mom’s passing the summer before.
Being out in the country, we only went to town once or twice a week. The rest of the time we spent at home or hanging out with other DRBI residents. Often, while the boys played and watched Minecraft videos I went for long walks or bike rides beneath an enormous southwestern sky, or dropped in on neighbors. Sometimes I’d meet up with someone else who was out for a walk or on an errand in their golf cart and we’d visit a while. It was the first time since becoming a mom that my boys were old enough to be alone for short periods. Being able to go out on my own almost whenever I felt like it, though I was never more than a block away and cell phones allowed us to stay connected if something came up, I had the space to begin to understand the silence of never hearing my mom’s voice again. It’s a large space, that quiet.
When we moved back into our house last summer, that quiet space grew so much larger. At Starbucks I’d think about how my boys used to spend time with my mom while I was out for coffee un-tilting myself from the demands of motherhood. We called it Grandma Duty and she was happy to help. Knowing they weren’t with her in her living room made me feel more clearly her physical absence. The last time we’d lived in our house my mom was fine and we were making good memories all over town. The last time we were parked in our moveable home in a nearby campground my mom was very sick, and then she faded away. Two kinds of memories followed me everywhere.
My body simply wouldn’t let me dive into nesting like I’ve always done. For one thing, I appreciated the work we’d done to clear our lives of extra things a couple years prior when we were preparing to live in our 27ft rectangular box on wheels. I was now more mindful than I’d ever been about what items we brought in to our lives. Secondly, I didn’t have the heart or will for it. I still very much needed to spend my free time alone, being rather than doing.
Over the winter I finished writing the book my mom and I had started writing before she got sick. It was such an emotional experience it took all I had after tending to daily life and my kids. Blank walls, mostly bare floors, makeshift beds, it all had to be enough. And it was.
In early spring we sold our pickup truck since we no longer needed such a strong vehicle; our camper was solidly parked in the driveway, going nowhere soon. We live a mile from a downtown that has everything we need and there’s a bus stop at the nearest corner. Walking and riding the bus around town with my sons has turned out to be quite therapeutic, for all of us. I hadn’t realized how cut off I felt in the driver’s seat, separate from the trees’ swaying branches, cool air on my legs, the rustle of skittering squirrels, or how much more fun it was to get from one place to another walking beside my boys, swinging our arms, rather than all buckled in to our seats, moving fast.
A couple weeks ago we embarked on an end-to-end house cleaning. In the process, both my older son and I got the nesting bug. He cut out favorite Sunday comics and put them on the wall, reorganized the family collection of Magic the Gathering cards, and generally decorated the boys’ bedroom. I started thinking about end tables and lamps, trading in paper plates for ceramic, and removing the stack of boxes from my bedroom floor.
On Sunday the end tables were assembled (thank you older son that loves to build things) and I washed the “new” flower-patterned dishes I bought from the thrift store. Yesterday I cleared my floor of all un-bedroom-like matters and plugged in a new little lamp beside my bed. The laundry has remained caught up for several days and I’m enjoying doing the dishes again. I even bought some Bon Ami so the sinks shine. One day I’ll begin decorating the walls, adding texture to night shadows created by passing headlights and the sunbeam streams of early morning.
Right now our house smells like the end of summer and fresh-baked brownies. Sitting here on the couch finishing up these thoughts, the cool evening air at my back, I hear crows caw and crickets chirp in the wilds of our cul-de-sac. And far above us I hear the music of geese flying south to their winter home.
Take a moment, please, to read some other entries in our challenge:
Mom - Hanging Out and Hanging In
M is for My Mother! - Squeezing the Fruit
NO FAT CHICKS! - Squeezing the Fruit
Monday - Musing on Life
moat builders vs barn raisers - Pathway to Purpose
Nerves - Musing on Life