We have lived in this house for five years now.
Long, long ago, my friend, Diane, told me it takes five years before a new place feels like home. I’ve always held that thought close to me like a soft, comforting blanket. It just takes time to sink roots into the soil of a new place. Just hold on, I’ve told myself. Give yourself five years.
So, now, it’s been five years and there are a couple of cupboards holding the strangest jumble of items that I hurriedly unpacked and tucked away those first days here. It’s been five years and my garage has never been truly organized. It’s been five years and I feel the typical social disconnect that follows me all the days of my life.
I need to sort through my books and clothes and shoes and photos and life. Too much in my life feels jumbled and cluttered and unsettled.
But who has time to KonMari her life when the laundry constantly flows like a polluted river and the natives demand daily nourishment and a steady stream of people call on me for answers and help? It’s chaos, a mishmash of puzzle pieces that don’t fit together at all.
For instance, we have a new kitten.
Our four year old dog, Lola, developed a mysterious and painful allergic reaction requiring a visit to the vet, $123.00 and three bottles of medication.
My 18-year old went to a 12-day conference. My 13-year old is heading to camp for six days. That means packing and prep.
The computer router died a sudden death and the 1-day “expedited” business shipping of the new one took seven days and cost me $33 extra dollars. I spent almost three hours on the phone with tech support. The inhabitants of my house wandered around for days, stricken at their lack of access to Netflix and computer games and YouTube.
Almost two weeks ago, my elderly Texan in-laws appeared with very little notice to spend three nights with us. While it was great to see them, it was a lot of cleaning and cooking and conversation. I’m still worn out from the effort.
So last night, I drove to the beach and watched the sun set.
And it felt like home.