a day like no other

I didn't finish packing the essentials until after 3 a.m. And I should say "finish" in quotes, because I simply gave up then. I ran out tape and boxes and steam. 

On the upside, I had no trouble falling asleep at 4 a.m. On the downside, I had to be up and ready by 7.

(coming down...)

 

The movers were coming at 8 and, well, you know, there are the animals (I take greater care in the way I look at things this morning because, well, you know, there aren't many mornings left here)...

And breakfast, a rushed one for sure, but it still had a farmette peach so I am (for the moment anyway) content.

The strategy now is to get the movers to take as much as possible even if it isn't carefully packed (like, a heavy box shut not-so-tightly with photo tape, or crates of legos and duplos and playfoods that dont quite have lids). The rest I would do myself (for example, I filled a shopping bag with wine glasses and drinking glasses and champagne flutes and glass dessert bowls -- they dont break unless you move suddenly, or put it down with too much energy).

The movers (Badger Brothers Moving) were awesome! And they were so pleasant to work with. Heroes, really.

Gabriel (the one on the left) commented -- the property is so lovely!

I simply reply -- yes, but it requires a lot of work. He asks -- couldn't you get a landscaping service to do it? And here it is, the whole fourteen years at the farmette, flash before my eyes. Yes, I moved here in 2011, just six years into my relationship with Ed. The farmette was so different then! Of course, there were no flowers, but the trees were small and there was plenty of sunshine. Eventually we renovated the farmhouse  -- with a lot of bargaining and negotiating, but mostly Ed acquiesced. I had leverage -- the move, I had some savings -- if it isn't fresh and honest, I wont come. 

In the first years, we improved the structure and the lands. Sure we did. We built the porch and the glass roof. We fixed the front steps (he got around to it after many years of stalling).  He had someone repair the barn roof. We got chickens, we tamed feral goats, I almost got a goat. And we planted. Man oh man, did we plant! Flowers, fruits, veggies, meadows, vines, apple trees, pear trees, cherry trees, peach trees, nut trees, fir trees.

But then, something happened: you could say that nature and habit took over. Ed is lackadaisical about maintenance and care. If it ain't broken... And he got busy with his new machine design. And he has this thing about cutting down or even trimming trees. And so the inside of the house -- keeping it fresh and honest -- became my job, and the outside of the house became... my job. Compounding factors: we both got a lot older! Twenty years ago when we started being "an item" I was a mere 52. I moved to the farmette when I was 58. A child! I have to boast -- I work as hard now as I did then. I really do. But, the wild side of nature is winning the fight outside, and the cats and Ed and normal wear and tear are winning the fight inside. (Why are there still holes in the ceiling after our bathroom leak several years back? Why are there so many cobwebs? Why are there crack in the plaster? Why is the stair rail perpetually sticky?Why is the carpet so dirty??)

None of this was a game changer for me. I love Ed and I love many aspects of farmette living. And he never asked me to be the work horse here. But, as I leave the place now, I think -- wow, this place needs more work than we have been, I have been giving it. 

 

Ed called tonight just as I was driving back to the farmhouse (for the animals -- all of whom are very mad that most of their favorite chairs and resting places have disappeared). He's truly sorry that I have to do so much back and forth driving now that he's away, but it cannot be helped. Anyway, the apartment isn't ready yet. Horror of horrors, there's not even a trash can, because the one I purchased is too big! If Ed has taught me anything, it is to have as little trash as possible. At the farmette, we put out our trash can just once every two weeks and usually it's maybe half full.  

Even though I am sure Ed continues to think that I am insane to be doing this, he does want to be (at this moment) helpful and before he left, he had volunteered to help with the move, if I would wait for his return. I tell him tonight that it took the movers two hour and a half hours to carry down and out heavy furniture and a large number of poorly packed boxes. And they wrapped things carefully in quilts, and they had a truck with a ramp. Had we done the move ourselves, it would have taken us two and a half grueling weeks.

Everything went well. Okay, everything that the movers did, went well. Me, I carried Sparrow's Lego project up from the garage and the thing fell off the trolley and scattered all over the garage floor. It did that twice. I finally stuffed the pieces in my shorts pockets (did I tell you? It is beastly hot in Madison this week!), but of course, the damage was done.

And the carpet cleaners? They came. Two of them. And they decided they cant wash the couch in the apartment unit because it may turn brown from the treatment. But, but, I've washed the cushion covers myself! They were fine! His answer -- we bring special water here. And the carpets are lovely but are they wool? Yes -- I say with some pride. I got one in Turkey and the other two in Albuquerque at a carpet fair! He shakes his head: you know from doing laundry that wool is very unpredictable. (Ha! I just shrunk a blanket by washing it last week!) We wouldn't want to ruin it for you. I wanted to say -- what kind of well rated carpet and furniture cleaners are you that you cannot clean wool carpets and you cannot clean a locally purchased bland couch? Instead I said -- oh. And then he said -- but I can take your three rugs to the shop and do the job there. Would you like that? Seems like the company he works with could save a lot of time and money by asking some questions at the outset over the phone but hey, he's offering to lug these things and wash them so I have little to complain about.

The big pieces of furniture are in the new place. I still have to build one bookshelf and one coffee table, but there is no hurry. I have to find a sheet for the bed. (Did I tell you? Ed and I have only one fitted sheet at home. On laundry days, I wash it in the morning and sleep in it that same night. Yes, you could say we are frugal, both of us in our own ways. I save my retirement funds for travel and the grandkids. Ed saves for the pleasure of not spending. And of course, I have to finish moving clothes and kitchen stuff, but the bulk of it is there, in the wee apartment looking over not at a garbage dump (except on the days they have trash removal), but on a park! And a cornfield and then a commercial glass and steel office building. It's that kind of a neighborhood!

I wont post photos of it tonight -- not of the grassy view, not of the interior -- not until I have it mostly in order. But I'll show you this -- it's a little magnetic bulletin board and shelf outside each door. I think it's there to emphasize that the building is a community. That people ought to treat it as a place to meet others, to be friendly and curious about their neighbors. True, it reminds me of the little shelf outside my mother's assisted living unit, where people also put out stuff to say something about their likes and foibles, but here it feels somehow different. And honestly, the tenants I've met are really friendly and kind, as evidenced by the reaction to my Lego spill in the garage, or by the warm greeting I got from the Colombian (she volunteered) mom and son, both of whom are my neighbors and I couldn't be happier with that: no way will they be blasting loud thumping music late into the night. Many residents dont bother with the magnets, but some people go all out. I took the middle path, helped tremendously by my collection of magnets from the past three years -- a new thing for me, done to get myself from purchasing more expensive items when I travel. They've been at the side of our fridge, but no one in my family sees them, no one cares about them. (They don't need to "learn about me" though my magnets.) Here's my carefully curated magnet board:

So which is home now? Well, the farmette, sort of. Until I sleep there, at the apartment, I can still title my photo file "farmette days" because my days still do orbit around the farmette. Will it ever stop being my world? That, my dears, is a complete mystery to me for now.  

One day at a time. Right now, I'm sitting on the lesser couch in a very empty living room. I have sat in this spot so often, with Ed coming down the stairs, or walking up the path, that I can't help but feel him to be here, just steps away. This is what made all these years of farmhouse messes and weedy terrain irrelevant. We were bonded. We are bonded, only are are old, and I find it tough to live only in the moment at this point in my life. But, one day at a time!

with so much love (and gratitude to all those who wrote!)...  

  

sleepwalking

Again I wake up after a mere couple-hour doze. It's not quite 2 a.m.. Go to sleep, go to sleep, don't think now, go to sleep. And yet, I do think. I can't help it. I'm behind in packing, I don't get how I am going to fit in a table builder, a carpet cleaner, and the movers, all at the same hour tomorrow, and shouldn't I buy a flashlight? Too, as the only decent place to sit in my new home, the couch will get quite the workout-- especially from the kids, who heretofore spent most of the hours on the lesser couch, where cherry juiced fingers and chocolate covered faces were tolerated because, well, it was the lesser couch, and it had a cotton blanket over it. An ugly orange blanket, because the too-small couch that was there before had been orange, and the kids got attached to it, and complained bitterly when we threw it out. So shouldn't I get a couch cover, since I'm walking away with the better couch now? I google "best couch covers." It seems everything is rated these days and there are many links to seemingly ugly but apparently best couch covers. And when I pick one and post my credit card number, it strikes me that I'd never heard of this company and is it actually legit? There's no address, no phone number, just an email. I send them a message to cancel the order. We'll see how that goes. By four, I remember that I have a grocery delivery to the farmhouse in the late morning, but maybe I should add milk because I'm drinking so much coffee so milk becomes an essential. Oh, and more ice cream bars for the kids because they sure go through them quickly. And then I try to sleep again and it doesn't work at all, and so now it's six and all hope for a good night is lost.

Animals. And a very spent garden which I haven't touched for days.

Breakfast. A little anxious, a lot sad. But, it's morning, I'm in my high energy mode insofar as you can be high energy on so little sleep.

I had made a list of all that I have to take today to the apartment, but mostly I have to hurry because Hector is coming at 9:30. Hector, I thought, would be putting together the night table, but in fact he is doing the bed. If and when he comes. (Meanwhile the coffee table lies waiting for my own construction effort. Someone on Amazon said it only took him one hour. Looking at it, I think he was bragging.)

Once more I've had filled grocery bags with the next load from the farmhouse. I have to use them, because I do not have enough boxes and what I have, has to be for stuff movers lug. 

I rush. I'm there at 9:29. There is no Hector. 

Now come the calls to Wayfair. Friendly people, but I get disconnected twice, maybe because I'm on the phone while riding the elevator and going to the garage to pick up those damn fragile grocery bags.

Just as I am about to give up on Hector and return to the farmhouse (because the groceries are to arrive soon, and in those bags there will be ice cream bars and it's 800 degrees today), he shows up. Look, I've been texting you! He has proof. I tell him -- sorry you're late, I have to go back to the farmhouse because there are groceries, can I leave you alone here? Just close the door when you leave without locking it. There is NOTHING of value here except the bed and I do not think anyone will take it out.

Luckily he is agreeable.

At the farm I pack up more bags, supplementing them with the occasional box. And here's another stumbling block: alcohol. I dont drink anymore but my supplies are substantial because I liked variety. Campari, Aperol, Vermouth. Cassis. Gin, Vodka, Prosecco. What the hell am I to do with all that? I decide to take them with me. Who knows, maybe I'll sink into desperation one day and open everything and sit out on the balcony and get one huge alcoholic buzz. (That would happen if, for example, I got diagnosed with cancer and found that I had only a month to live. Though maybe all that booze would just depress me? Still, I pack it up and take it. Maybe someone will invite me someday to a party and I'll come well equipped with presents.)

I also take my trio of succulents. So small last year, so big now! Should I transplant them? I have no idea. But the windows in the bedrooms actually have ledges and they are so sunny! Cacti, you are about to discover bliss!

Ed calls. They're still motoring because the winds are so low. That's a blow to him, as he hates motoring. The whole point of this was for him to hoist those sails and watch them ripple in the wind, while a salty spray of ocean water drenches his face, all this while the sky is ablaze with stars. He likes to take the night shift. But so far there has been no wind. Still, the crew is agreeable and smart, and today they sail through the Cape Cod straight and tomorrow they'll pass New York City. It must be a full circle for him: New York is where he first sailed with his dad. Lovely man, I hear. I'm sorry I never met him. 

And yes, it takes forever to again load the car and even longer to unload it. Once inside, I put away a few items, but not much. And yet I do think the place is coming together! Here's the bedroom, looking out at Old Sauk Trails park. 

p

Time to pick up Snowdrop at school.

 

We go to the farmhouse, even if it has to be a short visit. She will be the last child to come to the farmhouse while things are still normal. Wait, am I really calling this chaos "normal?" I hope she is not traumatized by it!

And then I drop her at her Girl Scout meeting. It's close to her home and so it's close to my apartment. I drive over and put together two lamps and throw away the wrappings from the bed. And I come back to this reality: I have less than 12 hours before the movers come... and the toys and kid books are not yet packed and neither are my clothes. The kitchen? Maybe half carted over already, because I do not want to pack up each single plate. I take all fourteen big ones and 15 smaller ones and put them in Sparrow's car seat and try hard not to swerve.  

It's going to be a very long night, but you know, all these days of no sleep have put me in such a daze, that it's all one big sleepwalk by now. 

Thank you for thinking of me!
 

with so much love... 

night and day

In the early hours of the night, I run through my usual bedtime routines and I feel the anxiety mount: this is insane, I'm thinking. My world is twisting sideways, heading into the unknown and honestly, everything had been so fine! Well, almost everything.

In the morning, I think about none of that. I am energized by all that I have to do to pivot onto this new track. A detour rather than a complete redirect, because I remain confident that this will be resolved. (Not sure if Ed feels the same way -- he lost control over this one and let me tell you, most men I know have issues with losing control. At least men in my generation. Still, there is so much love at the farmhouse...)

I go out to feed the animals. 

 

 

And I do a spot check of the meadows. The front one, planted just this year... So pretty now!

 

 

The peach orchard meadow is next. Oh! I should be picking the peaches! They've been falling already. I pause to gather some now.

 

 

 

I eat breakfast: peaches from the orchard, flowers from the meadow.

 

 

Then tidy the house, and load the car with the first batch of stuff for the new apartment.

Here's a hint for those getting ready to move: do not pack stuff into paper grocery bags. Do not do this. You're not convinced? Well then at least do not then pile them one on top of another and hope they stay intact. Because when bags start ripping left and right, you're in trouble. Just some friendly advice. 

About that apartment. Here's the building: my unit of course isn't one of the fancy angular ones (made a little bit more angular by my straightening of the photo).  I'm with the  more conventional balcony and a window to each side set up. But they are not small windows!

 

 

 

Every place in the world has its issues and these, of course, are all trivial, but I do worry about noise. Remember, this is a music themed building. I got a present of sunglasses and magnet saying something about rocking, and they dont mean in a chair. They have music concerts in the common area quite often. And no, it's not classical music! 

Other issues? Well, the view is not of farmette gardens. But it's got its good side: I have an expanse of green out my windows. I see no residences from my place, and no one sees mine. This is great, because I like to have shades up pretty much always. And the staff of the building -- they're really lovely. And little perks that many of you take for granted: there is a heated garage. No more icy winter walks to the car. And there's even a pool. (Many large complexes in the suburbs here have pools. Depending on its usage, that may be an exercise virtue, though of course, our swimming season is short.) 

Here's an important fact: it's thoughtfully laid out and it is immaculate. And only two years old, so they've addressed modern day issues -- charging station, lots of plugs, good wiring, good appliances, islands, granite, etc. But perhaps the most important virtue is that it is close to my daughter's home. Four minute car ride, twenty minute stroll. It's also close to the heart of the little satellite town where she lives. I can walk to several coffee shops, the library, the post office. 

But the building itself is in an area that is a mix of commercial and residential. It's on the wrong side of the highway. Whereas my daughter's home is in a lovely residential neighborhood that abuts the downtown, mine is a place of cars zipping in and out of large parking lots with mega restaurants and a couple of shops that you'd maybe find in malls. 

And finally, here's the peachy plum for me: the apartment may not have many windows (just three, all on one end), but they are large and they face the south. I live for sunlight flooding my day!  

I have a keys handover appointment and so I load the car and get going. (With a stop at Walgreens for Covid vaccination!)

Heidi  and Corey are the two staff members I deal with and they are really lovely people. Just awesome! And as I enter the apartment (only for the second time), I think -- oh, but it really is grand! Not very large (1007 sq ft/ 93 sq m), but just perfect for me, with an extra room for sleepover guests and for the toys that I have to bring with me.

And now it's a question of bringing in the bags of stuff (that rip and spill at every turn), the boxes of deliveries (that will need to be assembled) and start thinking about what goes where. And to do another round trip to the farmhouse, to get more bags of stuff (that rip at every step of the way).

And the sunshine comes in and the internet guy comes over and sets up the internet and I am just so  grateful for the smoothness of the operation.

I return to the farmhouse for a late afternoon Zoom with my distant (in location) friends. How lovely people have been! So much understanding for this very difficult moment! 

In the evening I take care of the animals and pack some more, no longer harried or anxious. I know this will work out. How and in what direction -- I cannot tell, but it will work out!

with so much love... 

boxes

Time to get serious here: I have a couple of days to pack up my life and move. (Doesn't that sound dramatic?) But of course, if I don't transfer everything that I need this Wednesday, I can come back for it anytime. Ed and I are not at war. We will never be at war. We are each others besties, in that at the most trivial level and at the most profound, we have shared something deeply rewarding for the both of us. I'm moving not because that has been ruptured, but because I need him to open his eyes to a reality that he refuses to acknowledge. It's that simple. 

It's nearly a scorcher today. Misty at first, but very quickly the mist melts into nothing and the sun warms the world around me.

Once again, I eat breakfast on the porch, alone, with my lists, but also with a picture of the ocean. Ed send me a tracker of where his boat is at any given time. They left the harbor today and are heading south.

Boxes. I need to put stuff in boxes for when the movers come. I thought I did not need too many. We always imagine we have less junk than we actually have. That is the curse of capitalism: it requires more boxes for moving. I remember when I moved from Poland to America in 1972. I had two rather small suitcases with me. True, I was moving into someone else's home, but still I left behind pretty much everything. My parents threw away all that my sister didn't manage to salvage for me. Now? I'm moving more than just two suitcases.

At lunchtime I take a break. After a week of being away on vacation, Bee is back online and I take the time to talk to her. Funny how much can change in a week! She knows me really well and yet this decision of mine came as a shock to her. So I wrap it in the context of events, feelings, belief system that at the core of it all. 

And then it's back to boxes.

When you do a move you face these realities: 1. Even those of us who do not acquire new stuff on a regular basis, the accumulation over time is incredible. Of what? Oh, everything! At the very least, you learn that you have more stuff (more boxes!) than you thought you had. 2. Dirt hides well. Try moving a bookshelf away from the wall. It's a horror show back there, especially if you live in an old farmhouse where beetles and spiders visit your home on a regular basis. Eventually they die. And create their own graveyard in nooks. 3. You find small things you completely forgot you had. For instance, I came across a photo of Ed that I grabbed when we were going through his parents' stuff some fifteen years ago. You know how he looks now. This is how he looked when he was much younger:

 

 

 

As I reach behind cabinets and empty bookshelves, I realize that I had taken on too much in the last years. I can't keep up with all of it. It's one thing to plant a flower bed (I love that part!), it's another to take on the overgrown farmette lands. To attack weeds everywhere, to create meadows, to trim trees and bushes, to take down tall grasses. And the house is tough too. It's old. Floors should be scrubbed, walls should be cleaned. The glass roof should be washed, the porch ceiling has more cobwebs than I can count. Ed will say that I need do none of this and he is correct, theoretically. But of course, he and I have very different threshold of tolerance. When I moved in, the place was stunningly immaculate. It isn't that anymore. It's another one of those things that we should have addressed early on, but we didn't. Ed and I are very good at coasting, avoiding the difficult in favor of contentedness and calm.

 

Yes, the young family is here for dinner. 

 

 

 

The adults know that it's the last one in the farmhouse. The kids? They know too, but we dont focus on it. Who knows, maybe they'll be back here sooner rather than later. 

I clean up quickly and yes, I do remember to put away the chickens and feed the cats. The two older kids help me with that! At the very least they keep my spirits up. 

I feel my job now is to stay positive for the whole lot of them in the process of changing my life around. This is when I really want to be at my best -- when I'm embarking on something tough and just a little frightening. This is when I want to dig into my reserves and show my strength. And love. So much love!  

night to dawn then night again

A fuzzy head from too little sleep is not something you want on a crazy busy weekend. And of course, there is this rule that the more tired you are, the harder it is to sleep. It doesn't help that I am to drive Ed to the airport at 3 in the morning.

In the car, both of us are quiet. And here I can't say that it's tiredness that's causing us to fall into a tunnel of silence.  I dont think either of us wants to add to all that's been said. I for one dont want to put significance into any one thought. I want the entirety to sink in. But I worry: he may not get it after all, may not understand, may not want to work toward a solution. Ed can stand still in his tracks if the alternatives aren't to his liking. What then? I can't think about that. I have a move coming up. 

It storms in the dawn hours of the day. So his flight out is delayed and he misses his connection in Chicago. I had suspected this might happen. He'd booked this flight with a tight connection because it was cheap. A risk. And yet, today, he doesn't pay the price for it: they put him on an even better, more direct flight. To Bangor Maine. (He'll be sailing down the coast. A crew of four men.) For me, the day is full of such metaphors and analogues. Ed and I took a risk coupling up 20 years ago. And it turned out even better than what we thought it would.  But inevitably, a key difference caught up with us and now we're struggling to make it go away. 

After some pretend-sleeping, I feed the animals...

It's going to be a hot one today. I eat breakfast outside, with my lists at my side. No Ed, just lists of what to take, what to pack, where to start, what to leave behind. 

And then I take a long break from all the move related stuff. I bike over to the park to meet up with my good Madison friend for a lengthy walk all the way to the town of McFarland. My friend and I connected just a little over twenty years ago -- at a time when my marriage was ending. She met Ed then and so I need not explain him to her. I'm grateful for that. We talk specifics. What happened, where am I heading, why did I do this. It helps to connect all these themes into one big narrative. But the story is long (hence the idea of a book!) and it takes us nearly two hours to get through it. I want to not skimp on the details. I want her to know that neither of us are angry, that we both love each other, that neither of us did anything awful. We merely should have anticipated that we'd be in this place exactly now, and we didn't, so now here I am, taking dramatic steps with the hope that Ed will align with me on this one.

In the afternoon, I do not pack up boxes. There's a reason for it: the young family is coming tomorrow for dinner and I do not want the kids to be unnerved by a house under siege. But I get organized. I do laundry. I clear out shelves. I polish the table and clean canisters. And all the time I wonder where all this is heading. 

(Is this the last lily? Maybe.)

 

Evening. Reheated chili. More animal chores -- ones that are Ed's when he is here. As I walk back to the farmhouse, I cant help but smile at the porch lights. Leftover from Christmas. Why? Because, I like them. Ed likes them too. I think.

 

 

good night, with so much love... 

twenty four seven

I feel that if I worked round the clock, I still would not accomplish all that I have to do. Usually people dont decide to move, to find an apartment, arrange for the move, supplement it with all the things you need for it, set up accounts, policies, wavers, pack up most of their belongings and get going, all in the space of one week. At the age of 72. Alone.

It is hard to explain (especially to Ed) why I needed to act with such insistence and speed. Here's why: our divisive issue is so fundamental that I cannot imagine sharing days with him unless we reach an agreement. It seems very phony otherwise. Like I'm doing it for comfort and ease. It turns out that I do have fundamental values and that I would rather wreck my stability and my contentedness than abdicate my core beliefs. I'll die poor but at peace, knowing that the principles that have guided me all my life were essential. They shaped my behavior at every turn. they helped me make choices. (Ed would argue the same: his core beliefs are fundamental to his life.)

This morning, after stepping out to feed the animals...

 

 

...he and I sat on the porch over breakfast, together...

And I repeated all this to him, and he explained his beliefs to me once again, and we both agreed that we were at the extremes of a continuum -- he on one end of it, I on the other. I'm sure he wishes I would budge. Indeed, he tells me -- but I dont want you to do anything for me, at all, ever! I put up with it, because it seems to be important to you. He is correct. It is. And I wont change, because I believe mine is the good way to be, the right way, doing least harm and conferring greatest benefits to all.

In the meantime, I'm making moving decisions left and right. It's reassuring to know that I can still multitask! I haven't totally let go of that skill set that allowed me to parent, work, volunteer, cook, clean, garden, etc etc all my adult years. 

And in the afternoon, I pick up first Sparrow, then Snowdrop.

You may think I should plead a mental health day (or, more appropriately, a packing day) and skip kid care, but of course, anything and anyone that can take my mind off of The Move is a godsend. 

I try not to play the game of "this is the last time." I take in the scene I have had before me for so many years and I smile. Yeah, a bit wistfully, but still, the smile has to be there.

One more talk with Ed before we catch a little sleep. We'll be up at 3 to go to the airport. And then comes the serious packing for me.

with so much love...

 

I have a new idea for a book!

When you live to write (as I clearly do at some level, or else why keep Ocean going for so long?), each calamity, each big event, each pivot is an opportunity for a story. 

There is much about my twenty years with Ed that is remarkable and unusual and worthy of pen and paper. We never had a conventional approach to our time together. Many people wondered how I put up with him, and how he put up with me, given that we entered each other's lives with completely different mindsets and worldviews. But we did it, and it was exceptionally grand! Very slowly I learned how his mind works and he learned how I look at things and we found a space where we could live in unity and peace. And love.

This changed three days ago. It's not that things spun out of control. He still is in the same place and I am in mine, but this time and for the first time, a large issue loomed and we could not find a common platform. He is happy to ignore that glaring mismatch, but I am not. My view is that we either work it out or we go on to live separate lives in separate spaces. This is why I am moving. To give us time and distance to figure out if we can still find that common platform.

On the upside (and haven't I said there always is an upside?) -- if we fail, I surely have great material for a book! (When we are together, I'm careful which stories appear on Ocean; that of course is true for all family and friends who make it onto these pages.) 

This morning was like yesterday's morning and the one before that: up before dawn, talking, explaining, trying one last time to reach that platform. But we get stuck again. With a sigh, I go downstairs and commence morning chores.

He comes down for breakfast, but I ate early today. Sorry!

And then I plunge into the turmoil that is The Move. And it is one big mess. I'll give you just one example. I decided to leave our bed in the farmhouse (even though Ed is perfectly happy to sleep on a couch, or even better -- on the floor) and to buy a new one at a discount at Wayfair (for those who dont know it -- it has a large selection of bargain-priced furniture, though with a slight edge over Ikea quality). Because it was cheap, I knew that it would come in many pieces and it would take me a mountain of time to build it, to say nothing of tools and skills which I do not possess. So I opted for their "put it together service." $80, but worth it! Booked for Monday afternoon.

Except that the bed is being delivered early. Like, really early. Like, today.

What's a person to do?? The apartment complex has a delivery room for small parcels. When I chatted with the AI "person" on the Wayfair site, it told me that small parcels will be left behind. I explained to the numskull that a bed was not a small parcel and that an early delivery would not be possible. This got me nowhere. We shall see how this one gets resolved!

You may think that I am spending my day packing. I am not. The kids are still coming here after school and I do not want them to see boxes everywhere. Nor do I even have boxes. Those, too will be delivered. Maybe today, maybe Monday. 

A lot of modern moving requires time on the computer. To set up services, to issue insurance certificates, to sign documents, to ask questions, to arrange meetups, to open accounts. I have rarely typed so much and filled in so many verification codes as I have in the last 24 hours!  

And what is Ed doing at this time? Well, baking pies and washing windows. I have never seen him so... domesticated! (He has been meaning to wash the windows for... a while.)

I watch him and think -- his routines wont change. He'll get up when he always gets up. He wont sit down to breakfast because his presence at the table in the morning is a courtesy, recognizing my love of these meals together. He'll work on his machine designs and listen to podcasts and talk to work colleagues, eating when he's hungry, sleeping when he is tired. On Wednesdays he'll ride his bike, on Thursdays, in the growing season, he'll go to the local market. He moved from sheep shed to farmhouse when I came onto the scene. The guy controls his emotions well. He will be who he is, do what he does.

Me -- well, everything changes: my residence, my gardens, my habit of getting croissants at Madison Sourdough for us. My push to open up the porch in the spring, my Sunday dinners with family and him. My spontaneous bike rides -- with him. Hikes in the local park -- with him. Cooking dinner in the evening while he stays on the couch or sometimes watches the news hour with me. The kids running into the farmhouse, racing each other even though I tell them not to. The kids riding the toy car up and down the living room, Snowdrop picking and eating farmette asparagus, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, peaches, watermelon. Naming cats ("let's call her Dance!"), chasing chickens. Me, moving my computer to the other couch every morning, while he sticks to the big one, the one we picked up by truck together. Me, making salads for two, every night. Me, with Dance besides us on the couch. Me, kissing him good night as I go upstairs before him. 

And yet, I initiated this.

I'm not the first to have something cut short. People get sick, homes burn down, partners die, others get divorced. But here we are, alive and well, in love and I'm moving out, neither of us angry, neither of us different than we were two weeks, two years, two decades ago. And just like that, everything will change for me. 

And he protests: gorgeous, everything changes for me too. My life revolves around you. 

So neither one wants this and yet here we are. I put in a request and it was denied and I can't accept his no this one time. This only time. 

 

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. 

 

 

 

All the kids like Ed, though the Chicago two are understandably more cautious around him. Primrose once asked how come Ed doesn't play with them like the other grandparents. Well, true enough, Ed is a different kind of grandparent. Snowdrop is the one who absolutely adores him. She's not a snuggler, but she'll snuggle next to him on the couch when she plays on the computer, so often his computer. She has been coming to the farmhouse almost daily since she was two days old. She's grown up next to him and he learned to love children thanks to her. There was a time when he did play, upon her request. She'd ask him to act as her husband at her pretend wedding. He'd comply even though he hates the institution of marriage and any ceremony whatsoever. Today, he is extra nice to her, because he knows she is not happy with the situation.

Her days, too, will change, in ways that I can't easily articulate. The farmette is her safe place, as it has been for me.

And yet here we are, stuck. 

 

(this is my favorite farmette view in the late afternoon)

 

Ed and I have one more day -- tomorrow -- before he goes off sailing. It is not going to be an easy day for either one of us.

with so much love... 

 

and the one after...

Can I brag a little? I'm good in a moment of crisis. I'm sure I will be the one dragging people out of an airplane after it crashes. If I'm told I must pack my bags, leave the country, and go into hiding, I'll start making lists of what to take. Maybe people who get tossed around between cultures, people with somewhat clueless and robotic parents, people who take on change as if it were part of the everyday (did I tell you about the day I got fired from a job? No? Well now, that was a life changing event!), maybe people like that are all good at the moment of The Great Unravel. I seem to have a pattern: crisis leads to quick action (remove passengers from plane!), followed by emotion (lots of tears), followed by very speedy mobilization. 

I am at this moment in my "very speedy mobilization" phase. 

But of course, there are the chores.

 

And breakfast. I thought I'd be eating alone, since I'm being a tough as nails partner right now...

But no, Ed wants to join me.

He makes another rather feeble attempt to get me to drop my idea of moving next week. Feeble, because he knows it's pointless: I've decided this is good, that there is no other way (that I can think of) to get him to focus on what he needs to focus on in order to preserve the awesome partnership (what a poor word choice that is! but is there another?) that we have going. Besides, I've signed a lease.

 

It is going to be an unusual move, to be sure. Ed will be out all week sailing. My lease starts Monday, but the movers aren't coming until Wednesday, so before that I'll be carting stuff myself. And because Ed will be gone for a few days (how long? we dont know -- ocean sailing is always unpredictable), I'll basically have to be at the farmhouse at least twice a day, and perhaps overnight. Without a mattress. Because of the animals. So, partially moved, for only part of the time.

I gently remind him that we were supposed to be biking in Door County this month (his idea) and that he let that one slide. And at least on this one, he feels sheepishly bad: let's go when I come back from sailing! Come on, we can stay in a really nice place! I have to smile at that: Ed, I'm moving for a reason! I'm not paying rent elsewhere to go on a vacation with you! At the same time, he knows and I know that we will be spending time together in the months ahead. How much time together? I haven't decided. We will see. 

 

with so much love... 

and the next day...

I woke up thinking that I took a step in the wrong direction. That I can slide the whole discussion Ed and I have been having under the rug and we can go on as before, and life would be so good, so easy! He has been trying very hard to get me to change my mind about moving. I can change my mind. Deposit lost, but mental health preserved. 

But then, I ask -- and you are willing to meet me halfway on this issue? Because to me, it's imperative that you are willing.

And we talk some more, all morning long and I see that he just wants a free pass, a slide under the rug, to be maybe resolved in the future and I have to remind him: Ed, we do not have much future left! We should have resolved this years ago! 

The move plans, therefore, are not altered. The lease is under my review. I sign it. The movers are booked.

 

I walk to the barn with a half smile. A week ago, I would have never guessed that I wont be watching the seasonal changes at the farmette through the kitchen window. 

Ed is up early and hovers in the kitchen as I fix breakfast for myself.

 

 

 

First, he trims some tomatoes from our garden for me to cook up tonight...

Then, of all things, to decides to bake an apple pie.

How many times has he baked an apple pie? Any pie?  

We talk again about how this move of mine is supposed to play out. He is so in favor of postponing it (well, actually cancelling it). But I don't see the point of dawdling and I haven't a clue how else to open his eyes to the fact that the ball is in his court. Even if he doesn't see it there.

All morning long I work on a massive clean out. This is the good side to all this! I am finally motivated to go through stacks of kid books, plastic toys, my old papers, clothes, all that. We have a car full of bags packed for Goodwill. 

And then it's time for me to pick up the girl.

Radiant and happy.

 

 

 

And just a little bit worried about her future at the farmhouse. About her future with Ed. We will both keep on reassuring her, but of course, we're on a new path here. Ed and I can only hope that it's leading to a good place. Maybe wanting a good outcome (as we both do) is enough. We shall see.

with so much love... 

 

blowin' in the wind

Here's my way of making big, life changing decisions: I give it a fleeting thought one day, I let it slide, and then I return to it and decide. With some consideration to the consequences, but just the most obvious ones, like -- will this kill me? Otherwise, I face whatever then follows.

That kind of impulsiveness is regarded in our society as a flaw of character. Unmeasured, Juvenile almost. Many have questioned how it is I go about selecting life's partners, but basically, it's worked out okay. My marriage lasted 28 years. And Ed? We've been going strong for twenty years and I have loved most every minute I have spent with him.

But last night, we got stuck, on a topic where we do have some difference of opinion. And we reached no solution and I decided that we are not likely to reach a solution any time soon. Suddenly trying to work out something is feeling so laborious, even though it should be so easy.

So I decided to move out. At least for a while.

To be clear: I am not mad at Ed. I love him. He loves me. But there have always been two imperatives that can make this work for me despite our differences and he's choosing to ignore one of them for reasons that aren't clear to me, so here we are, in love, but about to be separated.

People are indeed strange, to which category I most certainly belong.

But, but, what about my flowers?? Indeed. I can't afford to go to a place that will provide even one tenth the land (and my love for it) that the farmette provides. So I'm going with no land. No nature out the back door. No city either, just an expanse of lawn which I hate, but this is what you get if you move to an apartment building just at the edge of the city. Lawn, and I do believe there is a garbage dump below. 

And yet, I feel this is what I must do. Not so much to preserve my honor. I have no honor. But, I do not want to feel the way I feel now. Ed and I cannot remain suspended like this. One of has to make a move. I'm taking the initiative.

 

In the morning I feed the animals...

Eat breakfast alone...

And go out on an apartment hunt.

Actually, things being what they are, I did the hunt on line in the middle of the night first. It was a process of elimination. I dont like most apartment buildings nor their location.  The walls will be thin, there will be noise. I hate noise. But, it's clean and it has western exposure. So, sunshine. Just three windows and all on one wall -- another huge difference from where I live now -- with windows on all four sides. I swore I would never again live without large windows everywhere and yet here I am.

The building I found has a motif of rock bands (I kid you not). Tells you what they're aiming for, right? But apart from that, it feels okay. A place for the car, for my bike. Small rooms that have me scratch my head -- where is the table for family dinners supposed to go?? 

Why does it not bother me? Well, it does, but I am so bothered by losing what we have shared for twenty years that nothing else seems all that important.

 

In the meantime, in the afternoon, I still have the kids to pick up. I tell them that they will always be welcome at the farmette, but what a farmette it is slated to be now -- furniture missing, garden overrun...

Not this place anymore... Giggles and hose sprays and trees to climb and always always flowers for them to pick.

So this is where I am at. Ed is heading out on a sailing trip this weekend. I'm charged with minding the fort in his absence. And I will of course. But too, I'll be moving. With lots of tears. How can it be otherwise. When he returns from his trip, he'll help me set up the TV and the internet in the new place. Probably stay for supper. Just not at the farmhouse.

With so much love...