Favorites 02 Apr 2008 02:27 pm
Favorites From The Archives: Homesick Whilst Homeless
From the summer of 2005 to the summer of 2006 we moved three times. I count them as gardens lost: 3 planted, 3 left. In 2007 the years of tension and disfuntion were working their way to a head, like glass buried under skin’s surface, slowly festering. The unraveling has led to half a year of forced transience with no certain end in sight. In reading through my archives, I “hear” certain repeated threads and thoughts…one of them has been my longing to settle in security, to plant in soil that I’ll turn season after season. Though life has required a gypsie-like flexibility, it isn’t who I really am, and the hunger remains. And as this journey progresses, I suspect my thirst is more for a relational home than a positional one. This post was first written two years ago…March 2006. I’d like to dedicate it to all the reluctant travelers out there….especially the military wives who move and move and move.
You know that feeling when the blankets and sheets are all tangled up around your legs and feet and your toes can’t find their way out to some cooler air? When every spot on your pillow is hot and you just want to find a refreshing corner? When you’ve had on flannel bottoms and a T for too many days and you desperately want to shower and change but still feel dizzy every time you get up?
Physically and metaphorically, that’s how I feel. We’ve had two weeks of whatever virus this is and there are still fevers and coughs in the house. So, another week and we still won’t be going anywhere both for our own benefit and everyone around us. Cabin fever took a while to set in though…it pretty chilly out there and feelin’ yucky, no one really wanted to upset thier cozy little spots. It’s a weird cold: We don’t particularly want to watch TV or read or work puzzles. Just layin’ there is just fine.
An interesting aspect of this line of germs is the fastidious feelings it leaves it’s sufferers with. I chuckle sometimes when reading in my homeopathic book some of the symptoms that say, “sufferer wants attention but not to be touched”, or “patient feel intensely about thier environment and may spend time straightening thier bed covers”. And sure enough, there are cold strains that make us feel just like that! This one has nagged me with cleanliness. Far away from just lying there and not caring, if I’m going to go through the effort of being up, I”m going to have the laundry cycled, the meat laid out, the counters wiped down. It bugs me that the floor needs mopping and yesterday I vacummed in spurts every time my sinus pressure let up a little.
It’s gorgeous outside this morning, so sunny and bright. We had frost on the hill so I know it’s cold. But I can almost hear the ground pounding and asking when I’m coming out to turn it over. We’re suposed to put in a good gardening weekend this coming Saturday, health allowing. I’m somewhat ambivilant. I think I’m feeling the reality of being a “transplant’. If I put alot of work into this garden, how long will it be mine? A year probably but there’s also a chance I won’t see it to harvest. As fat cats cross our yard in pursuit of birds and ground creatures (we see 6 or so a day) I long for the ability to have pets again. The kids want a dog. I feel that old link to St. Francis, the saint my birth hospital was named for, the one who I sometimes wonder doesn’t mysteriously have some affect on my longing to be around animals. Being sick, we’ve missed important contacts with new friends. It’s nice to be included in party guest lists and makes us feel like we are starting to belong. Then, to miss them, and realize how easily it would be for us to just fade away, almost unoticed is unsettling. After all, a short 10 months ago these people didn’t know we even existed. Miss a few more functions and we won’t be missed. It’s no one’s fault; just a result of a transient society I think. I LONG for some ROOTS. I want to put some down on land we’ll own. I want the kids to stretch on ground they can be sure will still be part of our lives next year. This transplant is getting thin and leggy, reaching for light, and whose little tendrils of root are hitting the sides of the pot and getting circular and tangled.
I’ve got tons to do and probably not enough time to get it all done. It seems what is needed first though is some time to straighten things out. Beit covers or searching roots or emotions or tasks…it’s time for a little order.
