the strangeness of it all

Moved out (of the farmhouse), yet in each room, a handful of stuff remains. And Ed -- he is there of course. On the couch. Me, I'm sitting by the window in what was once the playroom. There is sunshine and I like sunny spaces. A few toys are left but mostly it's empty. Ed moves an old end table that I left behind and a wicker chair that actually once belonged to my younger daughter when she was a mere nothing!  Here, gorgeous, you can drink your coffee here. I'll move the table to this place later. Yeah, the table that was to be my writing table, but it never was that. The kids used it for art.

I have an old coffee machine that is erratic but still can produce a decent brew. He slices a piece of cranberry black walnut bread for me, smothers it with strawberry jam that we had made. Brings me a chunk of homegrown watermelon. Lunch.

 

 

 

People move in, move out. We are a mobile society. But what feels bizarre is this: I am in the space from which I moved, sitting in its hollow emptiness, enjoying a few hours with the person I moved away from. 

 

And I started the day not here, of course, but in my very comfortable new bed at the Edge. In my very neat apartment, taking a very fine shower, picking up a fleck of dust here, wiping a water stain there, sitting down to breakfast, with a book, at the island.

So long as I had read Viorst's poems from her 80s (see yesterday's post), I thought I'd reach for her previous book from her 70s. 

That took all of half an hour. (It's a quick read.) I thought about the words of one of her poems ("Easier" in Unexpectedly Eighty) -- living with someone who has irritating habits (because really, don't we all have irritating habits?), but in the end there is the person himself whom you love. Lifestyle choices are just a fraction of the entirety and hardly enough to have pushed me out the door. At the same time, both Ed and I realize how much we both sacrificed by accepting the choices of the other. Ones that were so at odds with our own. And still, neither of us felt pained by it. Why? Well, because we loved being in each others presence. As one of my daughters observed, you don't just love, you like each other! 

Still, sitting here now, in this dusty room after getting my coffee in the kitchen where even the counters do not shine anymore, I have to wonder -- however will we come together again, once we do work those deeper questions out? 

And then of course there's the garden. I'd arrived a little late today because I had a doc appointment to get tested for yet another listed allergy that I swear was the figment of someone's imagination. When I drove up the farmette driveway, I right away noticed the last of the lilies, the still blooming glad...

And the wilted tubs of annuals. And the rose I had started this spring that was determined to climb sky high if only someone would train it! And all the damn weeds and grasses. Abundant, in places where they do not belong. Some of you have asked me -- what happens to the garden now that I no longer work in it? I don't know. Ed wont keep it going. He'll either let it slowly get lost in a wilderness of grasses and shrubs and invasive weeds, or he'll mow it down and plant yet another orchard which, I tell him, will not have enough sunlight to produce much of anything. 

I water the tubs and spend a half hour clearing the weeds just from the bed that is at the side of the walkway to the door. At least next year, there will be flowers here.  

 

 

Over time, will I be able to watch this place disappear? Ed says -- this was all for you. I say -- this was all for us.

And so it stands.

Today's designated room for a total clear out -- the basement. My storage space. I have a cabinet of papers. I throw them all away. I find all my university diplomas. Bachelors, Masters, Law. Should I chuck them as well? I hesitate. Christmas ornaments, suitcases -- that stays for now. The rest -- up and out.

By late afternoon, Ed goes biking -- his Wednesday ride -- and I drive home. My lovely new home with an uncertain future, but with plenty of sunshine. 

and so much love...