Until March 20th, when Spring officially arrives, winter reigns, and walking around DC these days means wrestling with the season's obstinacy. Dribs and drabs of piebald snowpack laze on random street corners. Patches of sopping grass slow me down as I pick my way through sidewalk gardens. Mud - late winter's final insult.
And I caught another cold. Or was it the six cats in the house we toured last Sunday? Whether virus or dander, my nose is running again. Another seasonal offense, and it makes me mad.
As does waking to another grey day. We’ve had an intrusive string of them: foggy skies from constant rain, our two rivers, and the warmer spring air sneaking in.
For me, tea is one defense against the dregs of winter, so I make another cup and sit down to reflect. Winter is not the only thing that’s getting me down. Back when we concocted the idea of a temporary move, we’d been feeling stuck in our old house and were overdue for a change. Friends were entering tiered adult communities, but that didn't feel right for us. We needed an adventure.
At first, our fresh start in DC soothed the chafe, the chide of missed opportunities. The novelty of a move and the fun of being closer to granddaughters fueled our decision to pack up a lifetime of belongings and put them in storage. These seven months of an urban, downsized life have been fresh and liberating. We drive less and walk more. We take advantage of our proximity to the subway and the Smithsonian, and we continually enjoy the beauty of the nation's capital. We've even taken the subway to the airport.
Some days, though, I feel duped. Ostensibly, this was a temporary move. Was I so oblivious that life needed to trick me into a new age-appropriate life? I gasp when I count my fingers and realize we've got only four months left on our year's lease. Like the dirty snow that won't go away, the unseemly question hangs. Do we renew our lease in July or not? The idea of moving back into the house we lived in for 47 years seems absurd. When we moved, we began again, but oh, the baggage, the bumps and bulges that remain. The fact remains that, to make room for the renters, we stowed a lifetime of belongings in storage.
Countless carefully labeled boxes, furniture wrapped in moving blankets, books, clothes, and art - stuff that held so much meaning for us at one point in our lives, wait for their new orders. Will we eventually know what to do with it all?
On my way to the store the other day, I found myself shuffling through leftover piles of last year's leaves deserted by the Public Works Department. In one sweep, I saw snow lingering on the corner, the moldering residue of last summer's growth crumbling beneath my feet, and there in the patch of garden in the front of our row house, daffodils stood, but not ready to bloom. Ironically, the tail end of winter in this city that I've come to love oddly mirrors our uncertain state of being in between. Do we stay or go? If we go, to where and why?
What we have lived has not disappeared because we live somewhere else, and what are we becoming? As past, present, and future swirl, I need another brace of tea. And, like my grandmother used to do, I wish I could read the tea leaves. Do I sense something new emerging for us? Like the first stirrings of spring appearing from the warming ground, I trust answers to our questions are simply waiting for the right moment to show.
ReplyDeleteI have faith you two will figure it out.
Keep on sipping’