Apologies for the prolonged absence, my wine-loving compadres. We have a multitude of excellent excuses! Allow me to share some thoughts and photos from the first 3 days on the mountain.
You know, moving can be terrible, but it can also be baptizing. I wrote a friend a letter the other day, someone who is going through some big changes too, and made an effort to sniff out how I felt about this move:
I was always alone that summer, something I take in stride anyway, so it was less the being alone and more the conclusions I came to in that solitude that indicated a shift. I distinctly remember standing barefoot in the sandy road between two tall hedgerows. I’d walk down it numerous times a day, padding on the cool dirt, midway to where the brick columns of the old ruins could be seen just inside the overgrowth. In the yellow light, a cloud of fat bumblebees undulated above the top of the hedge. You couldn’t get away from them. All day they droned on. When it was just quiet enough to find my own thoughts—to seek out the source of the melancholy—there they were, those goddamned bees. They had the house closed in.
You can hide in your head, you know. But not with bees. Now, when I sense something big’s about to happen, I long for that hum. I wish I could tap the side of my head and make them start up. Wipes the mental slate, you know what I mean? Drowns it all out.
So today I tried to find that quiet change, somewhere in the noise of all the obvious change. I can’t be sure, but I feel like it might be a shift toward simplicity. Living simply… a simple life. It’s been a long time coming.
I’m so happy I’m here. I’m happy this change was pressed into my palm like a wafer during communion—and I’ve accepted it with all the curious uncertainty I do under the hot lights of the altar. Things are moving along swimmingly, in the midst of a huge, protracted snowstorm that’s bound my parents in with me for the next few days. I’m nesting like mad and simultaneously cutting out the clutter I’ve accumulated over the years.
Oh… and today is my birthday. My thirtieth birthday. I have to say—thirty feels good. If someone had told me it’d feel this good, I’d have stopped trying to cram so much in during my twenties.
E is adapting well, of course:
As am I:.
And I’m insanely productive working from home, with the soft plucking of J. Tillman in the background:
Tucking treasured mementos around the house makes it feel like home, like this note from my mom circa 1996:
When we first arrived, I bounded up the stairs with the sheepskin under my arm and laid it down in front of the fire. Rob later admitted he had a bit of a bet going that that would be the first thing I did in the house. Then we both ran outside into the night and tinkled side by side into the snow, laughing uproariously.
Thanks for coming along for the ride with us on this. Looking forward to getting settled and back to scheduled programming! Once I figure out which bin has my fox stole in it.