Slowing down your body enough to feel.
Thought you were at a standstill
but you were only slowing down enough
to feel the pain. There are worse things
than running to catch the train, twisting
your ankle, the afternoon fucked.
Running to get to or away from?
the stranger who helps you up
wants to know, you who are so used to
anything scribbled on a prescription blank.
Just want the pain to go away, you say,
surprised to find yourself
reaching for someone else's hand.
-
Timothy
Liu, All Trains Are Going Local
There’s nothing fun about uprooting from the
climate you’ve grown old in and transplanting to a new climate zone. I have a
40 year long taproot here. My trunk has grown thick and ragged and my knuckles
are like small branches with arthritic twists and bumps.
There has been much stress about leaving the old
place. That includes selling this house after cleaning and fixing up the worst
parts. That includes attending to more logistical and financial detail than I’m
now accustomed to. Finally, that includes the fact that I can’t pack and carry
a box of books to the car without having to take a nap.
Now that that’s mostly behind me, and I can start
to be stressed about moving to the new place. I have become a happy hermit who
prefers the company of my cat and a good book to lunch with the ladies. That is
about to change.
I’ve adapted to a drought tolerant lifestyle and am
worried about adapting into a neighborhood where things and people grow so
profusely. Like becoming accustomed to gardening with little water, I have
chosen to live without people. I have made do with knowing a single neighbor in
this house I’ve occupied for 30 years. I don’t need to socialize, limiting my
friends to a few carefully chosen like-minded eccentric friends who volunteer
together a few hours a week.
Now, I’m moving to a clime zone where it rains
people. I’m moving into an actual neighborhood like the one I grew up in. The
broker that sold us the house lives across the street. Several neighbors (including
the guy pictured here) have dropped by to introduce themselves in the brief few
days I’ve visited prior to moving. The seller’s grown child lives nearby and –
with our permission - is sending a letter to introduce us to our new neighbors.
She asked for a brief biography.
My sister, who has taken point on all matters
involving actual interpersonal contact, wanted my thoughts on what we would say
about ourselves. I wanted to say I have moved here as part of the Federal
Witness Relocation program and will no longer answer to the name
“Thumb-Crusher” preferring to go by my brand new name and brand new profession
as a Life Coach. I wanted to say that my sister has recently returned from what
is hopefully (not sic) her last extended stay in a facility that helps its
guests to recover from nervous disorders by prescribing medicines to replace
un-prescribed medicines.
I wanted to list our reason for moving to WA is
not, as they rumor may have it, to be closer to family and support each other
as we age. It is not to maintain the lovely garden created by the former owner.
Basically, it’s because of recreational pot in my case and assisted suicide in
my sister’s case.
My sister preferred to stick to our cover story
about sharing a room growing up and agreeing that because we’d both outlive our
respective husbands who smoked, we have spoken for years of ending up under the
same roof. We each get our own bedroom and bath now.
Being an acute observer of my sister’s moods (she
has a surprisingly quick arm for an old lady) I hastened to explain that the
fake bio would end on an upbeat note: we are still negotiating who gets to kill
whom. She still vetoed it, the sour old
biddy.
To be perfectly honest, negotiating murder is a
hopeful sign. For a while I was almost hoping I wouldn’t live to see this day.
Murder is more positive than suicide, right? I’m not ready to throw a holiday
open house where I serve Dad’s egg nog and worry about my kitty sneaking out.
But I’m almost ready to begin my new life.
This is perhaps the most stressful thing about the
whole move. I’m almost ready to reach out for somebody’s hand.
