Saturday, October 08, 2005

Feels Like Starting Over 

Too much time and the near history of our newly minted life becomes so much background noise, like the rain outside, our first since we moved into our new house a week ago Wednesday.

From the change in season to the minutia of a fulltilt existence, from work to family to play, the tidbits and fragments of an almost-stettled life fade a little farther into the pile, become unrecoverable. After ten days, the sheer volume of unblogged life far overwhelms the possibilty of backtrack.

Ten days of half-written poems, workplace triumphs and childmoments, town exploration and household quirk discovery -- all faded like the stars fade into each brightening morning as I rise, and sit on the porch with the day's first cigarette and coffee, and emerge from sleep with the day.

The bedraggled, blueheaded wild turkeys that just now walked through our yard, scant inches from our feet, on their way up through the woods to the meadow, seem no more or less recent than our first night here, camped out on camping mattresses on our own bedroom floor.

It's hard to begin again.

Not so odd, I suppose, to realize that I needed the blog both more and differently during the long months of homelessness, nomads on the road, no job or haven to come home to. But hard to recover the trope, and the tendency, and the time. In this brand new day, after a hundred years of uncertainty, it will be a while, surely, before blogging and I can once again find our place in each other.

But still I rise, and so will the blogpart of me, the tiny voice that needs this space to be whole. The outside world only paves the way for the settlement of this one, the world of the mind.

And in that glorious outside world of rain and sunrises, we're finally wanderers in control of our own destiny, able to make our own choice of path, pace, and progress once again. Unfurnished and still packed, but we're home at last.

Thank you, God, for this life is good. The world still spins, but we've got money for our tickets this time 'round, found our seats together for the long ride.

Hold on, hold on as we crest the top of the roller coaster, clutching our purses and shiny bright things, these tiny hands in our hands.

It's all downhill from here, and the carnival never ends.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:57 AM |

Comments:
Welcome back. How's the house?
 
Big. Warm. Full of boxes and bereft of real furniture. Too many outlets (every 2.5 feet along every wall, oddly) and just the right amount of windows (about 2.5 feet along every wall). Wonderful. Home.
 
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