“Home again; another journey ends. I’m home again and grateful. I sat at my desk, looked out my window on the world — or at least my neighborhood — and journaled. I immediately felt comforted by a familiar ritual as I reflected on the days that led to my arrival here.”
“Today I’ll unpack, find my bearings and my belongings. Everything will find its place again and everything will be okay. I’m home again.” — Excerpts from Moving Story III, June, 2013
Yesterday was the first day I woke up in my new home. Like three years ago, again I looked out my window on the world and journaled. It helped to write Thursday morning in my previous home, first thing while having coffee before the move began, then again before I went to sleep here in my new home.
After the move on Thursday, I had a late lunch/early dinner of Asian-style chicken wings from my new favorite go-to restaurant for lunch, Soho. I napped for three hours. I was exhausted. The muscles in my legs, forearms, and feet were strained and tired. The nap and the Ibuprofen helped. I setup my laptop and made a list of things to pickup that still remained at 640 West: Prescriptions, bottled water, shower curtain, towel, and toiletries. I still have some random, miscellaneous kitchen and bathroom things to pack, a date with my ex to take down my mobile and put it up here — a tradition we created that’s mostly an excuse to see each other and to let her know how and where to find me — and plan and execute the storage unit logistics, and finally clean my old place and check-out. Whew!
Thursday night after I made my final run for the evening, I sat on my balcony and listened to the sounds of my new home. I heard the car tires rumble and vibrate as they crossed the railroad tracks on First Street and the neighbor’s dog protectively bark at people walking by and at other dogs. It’s a corner house, and the barking dog was somewhat irritating when I tried to nap earlier and then I realized how our neighbors must have felt when they heard Maggie and Nestle and later Penny barking at passer-byes when I lived at Dunning Street with my ex.
I heard crickets and the nighttime sounds of traffic and activity in my new (old) neighborhood. I saw what I think was rabbit scurry by lickety-split as a train approached. A freight train rolled by at slow speed with crossing bells ringing and lights blinking. It’s a sound I enjoy and find comforting, reminding me of my childhood, living near the North Shore Passenger Line in Racine. I lived adjacent to railroad tracks at 640 West too, so again, I felt at home.
What I’ve learned again from moving is that I may move from one location to another, but I still reside in the hearts and minds of family and friends who care about me. I’ve received help moving material things, heartfelt encouragement, support, and reminders that “this too shall pass,” dinner offers, and flowers from two friends to welcome me to my new home. Most importantly all these gifts of time, energy, and affection fed my spirit and sustained me during the move.
I’ve been reminded again that wherever I move, I take me a long, so how well I can take care of myself (and am taken care of by those who love me), it will make a difference. Looking back, I still dread the packing and delight in the unpacking. In the 48 hours I’ve spent in my new home, I’ve recognized the simple things that give me pleasure and provide solace: afternoon sun, the songs of birds, tree leaves rustling in the wind, train whistles, crossing bells ringing, blinking crossing lights and the clickety-clack of trains passing under my window —the sounds of urban activity — the comings and goings of life on the move.
[I just spent frantic moments wondering where I put my digital camera after removing it from my purse. The challenge is that everything doesn’t have an identified place yet, so momentarily I thought I lost it or threw it out. As it turned out, mixing metaphors, “I had simply lost it.” I found it and it too will find a home, just like I did.]
Thanks, H.P. Life is good. I’m grateful.
To read more moving stories:
Welcome to a great neighborhood! Check out the write-in at Arts Lit Lab, first Wednesdays. Enjoy those trains (I too find them comfortingly reminiscent of my childhood). Stroll along the trackside gardens and snack on a handful of raspberries when they ripen. Say hi to my friend Ken if you see him gardening–beanpole of a hippie. You’re home!