The countdown has begun.
We put our house up on craigslist, and in less than a week it was rented. I know I should be relieved. That is a big thing off our to-do-list, and now we can continue to pack and 1) not worry about keeping our house in an unrealistic state of cleanliness; 2) not have to worry about paying for two places because we couldn’t find renters; and 3) be grateful that we found such awesome tenants.
We have lived here the past five years. This is the house that little A was born in. This place is the longest I’ve stayed in since I left home at 18.
The speed with which everything is happening leaves little time to adjust to the reality that we are moving. It is an uncompromising fact, and I am feeling sad and nostalgic for a place that we haven’t even left yet.
In the short period since I started spinning, I’ve acquired quite a stash of fiber: pillowy natural wool asking to be bathed in color and cleverly dyed braids that sit, like artifacts in a museum, adored and admired from a distance. They are too dear for my clumsy hands and my unsophisticated understanding of color.
They live in the same rarified world as the amazing Gocco set that V bought for me. Too precious and intimidating for me to use. Over the years, I have amassed a huge collection of these beautiful objects: paint sets, canvases, and fabrics.
I have to fight the fear to collect even more.
Without her, I wouldn’t be me.
I came to motherhood later in life, almost at the point of biological-no-return. And I had thought nothing of it. I loved my life. I never felt the imperative to get married and have children. I had finally come to a point in my career where I felt that I had finally “arrived.” I loved my independence and freedom.
Then, I met V. And my life took shape in totally exhilarating and unexpected ways. Within a year, little A came into my life, a gift from the universe who knew better than me what I needed.
I didn’t change when I became a wife and mother. But now, I see how and why I am the way that I am.