a new day

Perhaps that's a platitude: a new day, standing in for massive changes in your life. Yet it is so fitting! I did wake up to a transformed home space. A new landscape. A different approach to the everyday. 

Yesterday was insane. (Granted -- all moves are insane.) I neared 20 000 steps and I wasn't even the one doing 90% of the moving. My watch tells me I climbed 33 flights of stairs. All in Sally's House, taking empty boxes to the basement, carrying stuff up to the bedrooms. But putting in all that work paid off. I still have boxes of clothes and bathroom stuff to unpack, there's still a couch missing in the living room, the books aren't up on the bookshelves yet, and despite all that, it already feels like home to me. 

Henry was up before 7. He'd slept in his bed, in our bedroom, as if it we were still at the Edge. Surely he must have been tired. After daycare, he's usually asleep by 8. Not last night. Each time I went to the basement, he'd follow and wait apprehensively. He doesn't like entering weird unfamiliar terrain and the basement is one such area. He wont go down. He'd stand at the top, back up, watching, as if waiting for the ax to fall.

*     *     * 

Morning. He and I go out. 

 

 

 

 

Just before 7 the construction workers are arriving at the site across the street. This is heartbreaking for me -- watching the way these guys work long hours, doing their job with such skill, yet also with the fear of being picked up and hauled away. When Henry sees the first guy emerge from his pickup, he lets out one woof, but as others come onto the scene he gives up. They're not walking toward us. There are many. Henry slides into exactly where I want him to be -- indifference. I smile.

As we head back to Sally's House, I see a guy coming toward us with a big black pooch nearly Henry's size. My dog perks up. A friend? Let's go greet him! But the owner gives us a wide girth, even stepping out onto the street to avoid us. And immediately I see why he does this -- his dog is reactive, but not to strangers (or not only to strangers) -- to dogs. As his canine barks and growls at us, the guy tugs him away, all the time saying -- "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Oh, how I know that feeling! Of resignation, of an inability to get things under control, of failure at a very primal level. I smile at him, but I know he doesn't notice and doesn't care. All he wants is for his dog to calm down.

In this neighborhood, dog ownership is very common. I've biked and walked here so often and there are always dogs and owners out on the paths and sidewalks. This is a good thing for Henry, who knows his way around canines. In all, this whole move is so far a wonderful change for the better. 

 *     *     *

Breakfast. Ed eventually comes down for it, but he's not a breakfast eater anymore. Keeps me company for a few minutes, then retreats as I try to figure out where best to eat.

 

We are developing new routines, new habits. Much to Henry's disappointment, he goes off to take care of farmette animals. We will meet up again later, but even if we don't, I feel like we are already back in our bubble. A differently configured bubble, but in a good way. (Our issue of future planning remains unresolved, but at least we are dealing with a greater awareness that it's there, on the table, waiting for us to move on it. Soon I hope, but I wont be surprised if it's not soon at all.)

*     *     * 

I lost my couch buddy for the morning. I knew this would happen: there is only one window on the ground level that looks out on the street and on all the construction activity. That is where Henry wants to be. And for once he has more to take in than merely cars going in and out to the garage.

As I drop him off at doggie daycare, Aimee (the owner and person in charge) asks -- how did it go? And I had to say -- magnificently. Because it has been a magnificent transition, but with this caveat: I know my Henry. He starts out slow. Doesn't pass judgment until he understands the boundaries. His anxieties come out when he feels happy and comfortable. He doesn't want to lose then what he has achieved in life. So what I should have said was -- magnificently for now. Ask me again in a week.

*     *     * 

I unpack. Of course I do. And still, there are boxes. Many boxes. Well, I have an excuse -- today I had to give a chunk of time to grocery shopping and building a new IKEA couch (with Ed's help). We always needed two couches for when the young families come over, but I especially need a second one for when Sadey is here. It's already tight with Ed, Henry and me on the existing one. We need to make room for the new girl!

 

 

And I have to pick up Sparrow at school. I've been warned he's been a little off, what with the two sibs "enjoying" time at home (they have a light case of the flu). I was not prepared at how much this affected his mood. In the end, we decided it's better that he head home. A visit to Sally's House can come later. When Sadey is here!

*     *     * 

Henry's return home from daycare is smooth as can be. We get out of the car and he immediately pulls toward the door. No, sweet pup, you need to do your walk first. 

Once again, he is surprised to see a new piece of furniture in the house. But what a great addition for two large dogs! The seat is incredibly wide. My big pooch right away favors it for nap.

 

 

Me? I make a cabbage potato soup that'll last a while. And in the time it took to cook it (90 minutes), I tuned in to a live feed (via Facebook) of the loading of the Texas rescue dogs (and cats) onto the buses and vans. 107 animals, on board for their journey to a new home. If I thought Wisconsin is far, I learn that some are going to Seattle. Others -- to Canada. They'll send them anywhere just to give them a chance at a good home. And I see Sadey! In a crate, ready to start her 30 hour trip (this is their estimate... updates will follow).

Tomorrow will be another huge day for all of us. We are on a roll!

with so much love...