Transitions

If this move still doesn't feel entirely real, it is no doubt due to the fact that we continue to inhabit an empty house.  And yet, somehow our life in Virginia is taking on an unreal tone for me as well.  We are neither here nor there, but also both there and here.  We are camped out, if camping can mean air conditioning, a double-thick air mattress, and Netflix videos on the computer at night.  We are settled down, if one can be settled when all of one's belongings are somewhere in Nebraska. Or Utah. Or Montana.  We are filled with plans for the future, just as soon as we finish the process of selling the home of our past.

We marvel at the cool mornings and crisp evenings, and still compare the weather with our last known address. We paint--and when the color is awful, we repaint--and we try to remember the size of our furniture as we wander through each room. We have a $100 bet about what color the couch actually is.

We do our work, me from a camp chair in what will eventually be the dining room.  We go on bike rides. I get myself hopelessly lost on runs through fields and residential neighborhoods.  We have laughter-filled meals with old friends.  We have twilight drinks with new ones. We buy a second box of plastic forks, because I keep forgetting and throwing them away after we eat.

They say the lessons come not from the destination, but the journey.  This is a long class, indeed. But a good one.