Discombobulation!

Note:  This blog was penned in the middle of July.  It is now the middle of September.  One of the things I value about writing this blog is that it helps me capture moments in time.  It helps me to remember where I was and what was happening. I didn't publish it in July probably because I was in the thick of it.  I was truly discombobulated.  I have added a postscript at the end of this post that reflects how things have evolved..  Read on for more.

July 16, 2023

Discombobulation is the only way to describe the state I am in.  From the free dictionary-

A stunned or bewildered condition: befuddlement, bewilderedness, bewilderment, daze, fog, muddle, mystification, perplexity, puzzlement, stupefaction, stupor, ...

For a girl who likes to unpack the minute she arrives at a hotel room, who likes to have order and know where things are, moving is incredibly stressful.  It is a well-known fact that moving is one of the most stressful things we go through.  I should know, I’ve moved back and forth across the country twice. I’ve lived in NYC, Boston, San Francisco, London and Santiago, Chile and of course our beautiful Vermont. 

I’ve been to this rodeo.  This time, however, the stakes are a bit higher.  We are moving into an unfinished house.  My poor weary husband is working feverishly to finish building an apartment over the garage that will be part of our new house.  And that is where we will live for several months until the rest of the house is complete.  You heard it here.  Several months.  HA!  We’ll see.  My handyman, architect, energy nerd, devoted husband is not making any promises.  But he is working tirelessly to make sure we have somewhere to sleep after we close on our house sale in August. 

 

This is all complicated by the fact that I am not at full strength.  Far from it.  I am half deaf, my vision is wonky and my balance is terrible so traipsing up and down stairs with boxes is just not in the cards for me.  What I am doing is trying to make decisions and manage the complex process of moving us out of our farmhouse.  I have a giant spreadsheet with sheets for furniture, rugs and art.  We’ve already done a major purge and will likely do another one.  We’ve taken multiple trips to our local donation center with bags of clothing and linens and housewares and furniture.  Some furniture will be moved into our apartment.  This, mind you is a one room studio with a small kitchen and bathroom.  We will have one small closet and one bureau.  Talk about downsizing.  The rest of our furniture will be moved into our new barn or stored at the moving company’s facility.  We definitely need a safe, climate-controlled home for our piano for the interim. 

 

As I’ve shared with friends, my husband and I have been married for almost forty years and our secret is that we have always given each other a lot of space-  physical space, emotional space and mental space.  This means living on top of each other whilst trying to finish the house will be a true test.  I’m sure we’ll be fine.  We’ll just probably be pretty cranky a lot of the time.  I am definitely bringing my art supplies.  And my loyal Smooch of course.  She’s always good for kisses and laughs.  As I pack things up, I am thinking wistfully of the day that I will see them again.  It could be years.  But whenever that day comes, it will probably feel a bit like Christmas.  I hope that I’ll open boxes and be delighted to reunite with some of my treasured belongings.

 

For now, I am taking it one day at a time and embracing the motto-  Less is More!  

September 17, 2023

Postcript:  The "HA! We'll see." from the first paragraph proved prophetic.  Many of my friends who had come to help and had seen the disarray, the "gypsy encampment" that I had named our little trailer where I hoped to do my artwork, were raising their eyebrows, shaking their heads and wondering aloud how this would all turn out.  My wonderful sister-in-law who had come to help me pack actually gave me the nudge I needed.  She sat me down and in a very no-nonsense, serious tone said to me- "You have GOT to get out of here." 

I had been trying so hard to be a good sport, to put on my big girl pants and hunker down in my unfinished one room apartment with my gypsy encampment outdoors, to be the partner my husband was hoping I would be.  But that was not to be.  I have never done well living in a construction zone.  I need order and an environment that comforts me.  I need a measure of calm and beauty around me.  And I'm happy to report that I have found it.  I am renting a sweet little house at my summer camp.  It is small and very simple but it's lovely and I am happy here.  Smooch sits on the deck, surveying her camp.  She is, after all, a camp counselor during the summer.  We are both proud and happy to be watching over our beloved camp.  Michael comes for dinner since there really isn't a kitchen in the still unfinished apartment.  We discuss the project and the state of the world.  I try to be supportive and encouraging as there is a long way to go before we will finally move into our new house.  It appears that our strategy of "giving each other space" continues to be the secret.