Monday Morning Musing: A Moving Story

I’m taking some time away from work this week, in part because as the end of the calendar year is in sight, I have some unused vacation time I must either “use or lose”.  And in part because I’m tired, or as the Germans would say Ich bin müde.   And, reluctantly, I need to shift into full on relocation mode soon. 

When Bruce and I first moved to Olympia, we weren’t sure about neighborhoods and homes.  We searched the Zillow listings for both Homes for Sale and Homes for Rent.  I eventually stumbled upon a beautiful home, built in the early 1900’s in the historic

neighborhood just south of the state capitol.  It had been updated and renovated in a way that made it easier to live in (air conditioning!) while still retaining many of the traditional unique features of its era.  Its owner wasn’t interested in selling, but he was willing to rent it to us and to give us the right of first refusal if the time came that he changed his mind.  We moved in just over two years ago and made a happy home in this place. 

It happened that every time our lease renewed, our landlord raised our rent as much as was legally allowed, so this past spring, Bruce and I had a heart to heart about whether and how we would continue to live in this home.  Could we encourage the owner to sell it?  Did we want to own it now that we understood some of its quirks?  We decided to renew the lease and continue to rent for another year to give us some room to discern what we wanted to do (and for Bruce to have two knees replaced).

And then, life changed. 

Suddenly I found myself in a house that was too much.  Too much house, too much outdoor space, too much money, too many memories.  And at the same time, almost to the day, the owner decided to sell.  “Would you like to buy it?” he asked. 

So it was that I found myself in search of my next home.  Not ours, mine.  There no longer needed to be a space for Bruce’s study, where he would compile and edit photos or create the “Bruce Cards” he was famous for.  What sort of outdoor space could I maintain alone?  Where might I find community among neighbors?

As these things go, the Universe put me in the path of my next home.  And over the weekend, I got the keys.  And throughout the month of November I’ll be slowly relocating my life from here to there, with the help of others.  Having this longer runway, I’ve been able to imagine this home that, while only mine, will surely bear Bruce’s images and memory.  I sort through his art and think where it will hang.  I consider where I want to literally hang his hat and store the few pieces of his clothing I’ve kept.  It’s hard. 

I’ve long believed that houses have energy.  Some homes wrap us up in them and keep us safe and calm our spirits.  The home I’m still in, while so lovely and so historical and set in such a gorgeous setting, feels like it has neutral energies just now.  Like it is no longer mine because it was ours and there isn’t an ours any longer.  The new home feels like she’s glad to see me when I walk in.  Like she’s eager to welcome the things of my life and me.  That feels right. 

So, on these days off I’m planning to read and write and rest (because that’s a refrain that helps my song sing) and I’m planning to pack some boxes and take them over to my new home, which is only a couple of miles from this one.  I’m also going to spend some time with lovely people who, being aware that tomorrow is Bruce’s birthday, have invited me to their homes for food and time together.  It’s another hard first.

Recently a friend noted how often I’ve moved, and this is true.  And sometimes I wonder what I’ve missed in this absence of rootedness.  And sometimes I wonder what I’ve gained.  And of course, it just is my reality so all of this wondering is really for naught. 

But I do love this quote by Henning Mankell: “You can have more than one home. You can carry your roots with you, and decide where they grow.”