Take a Breath

The last couple of weeks have been such a whirlwind.

My sister is home from the hospital and is recovering well. We sold our NH home; the closing went without a hitch. The moving van came and left behind mountains of boxes and more furniture.

I need to sit still. And breathe. Doesn't that sound delicious?

We're settling into a routine here in our new home and community. Al and I enjoy singing in choir at church (Bar Harbor Congregational Church) which is great fun. And I'm also singing with the Acadia Choral Society. So that's two nights a week that I'm out.

I haven't found time to really investigate a local rughooking group. But I'm able to get into the local yarn shop (Lilac Lily) once a week or so; it's where I stop when I'm struggling with some persnickity part of a knitting pattern. It's quite a lovely refuge.

While working full-time (at least for now), I need to balance my extra-curricular and work activities. And then I need to balance those BOTH with just being. An old friend used to remind me from time to time, that we are human BEINGS and not human DOINGS. Good point. Easy to forget. Why is it that we find ourselves so busy that we almost need to schedule the down time. The empty time. With my short commute (walking from the kitchen to the sunroom, aka my office, doesn't take but a moment), I can maximize that quiet time before and after work.

One of the best parts of living somewhere new is meeting new people and making new friends. Maybe it's because there are so many of us here who are semi-retired or retired altogether, but it does seem that folks here are willing and eager to take the time to get to know each other. Visiting with new friends over dinner is such a great way to spend an evening.

Reading back over this entry --- it's got quite a jagged feel. Maybe even on the edge of frenzied.

For now, I'm going to sit here. And just breathe. Yummy . . .

There's a Madness to my Method . . .

Today I unpacked. And unpacked. And unpacked. It felt GREAT!

I know I have to take good care of my back. So I work in the same position for only a few minutes at a time, and then move on to the next room to do something different. Today I hung clothes, paired shoes and put them in the closet, shelves dozens and dozens of books (really! How much can TWO people read??), stacked CD's in the entertainment center, flattened hundreds of sheets of newsprint and 15 or 20 boxes (we're recycling --- Mike and Laurelyn just sold their house), and rearranged some furniture. I'm sure if anyone retraced my steps throughout the day, I'd have looked like a whirling dervish, but my method really worked well. I accomplished quite a bit and not a back twinge in sight.

And the living room and master bedroom are taking shape -- the living room feels light and airy again, and there's actually a FLOOR in the bedroom. Ahhh. . .

It feels SO much more like home now . . . Yippppppeeeee! Pictures soon--I promise.

Building Strong Bodies Ten Ways . . .

So. I wonder . . .

Why does it take soooo much, much longer to unpack boxes than it did to load and unload the moving van?

So...we're on! How quickly will we be able to see all the walls in each room? Hmmm . . .

There's another yard sale in our future or more free-cycling. I'm sure of it!

Enjoy this GORGEOUS weekend. Between unpacking boxes we'll be kayaking in Northeast Creek. We're hoping to pick some ripe, wild cranberries. We're still at peak colors here in a few spots.

Off to open another box . . .yikes.

A Deep Sigh . . .

How do you spell relief?

I woke up this morning in my own bed. With my darling Al. I knew where I was immediately.

I am home. And it feels great!

Even with it raining here today (which can sometimes make me feel a little blue), I can look outside with a big smile. We're here for good. It's just us...and oh, yeah, the stuff that will be delivered tomorrow, much in big cartons (thank goodness they're labeled!) and a few things wrapped in heavy blankets.

And I only found two more tiny splinters of glass in the kitchen today. Still no bare feet here!

Our Life in a Box

Well, it's happening. The packers were here yesterday. The movers are here as I write. It's weird seeing your things carried away, one at a time, by tattooed men. It's like a circus here.

We culled. We gave away. We threw away. We donated. We threw more away. We moved more on freecycle.org -- and on, and on, and on. We're on a first-name basis with the guy who manages the transfer station/recycling center. And nine more cartons of brand-new books to my favorite school in Nashua.

Is this worth 60 cents a pound to be packed, transported, unpacked? Probably not. Toss it.

It's just stuff, right?

The house is echoey now -- O.K., I've never written that word before - not sure how to spell it.

The last time this room was so empty was when we moved in here 28 years ago. It was early September. I still remember how loud that single cricket was when we slept in sleeping bags on the living room floor awaiting the arrival of the moving van.

Sure hope it doesn't take as long to unpack as it took them to pack it all. Yikes.

Textures

Last week, before Al left to close up our home in NH, we decided to take a short walk through the woods. We followed the trail along Long Pond, one of our favorite places to kayak. It was very, very quiet -- in fact we only saw two other people (in a canoe) during the whole hour+ we were on the trail.

The contrasting textures pulled me along the trail as we explored . . .



smooth water and rocks,





velvety moss,



delicate, colorful leaves with pinked edges,







gurgling, miniature waterfalls,




spiny, crackly twigs,










feathery cedar,

rough, leathery fungi,








a frantic thoroughfare of tiny fish (look carefully),






a busy spider on its lacy web,



striated rocks disguised as clam shells, and





a rooted pathway that took me back to childhood
and the way to Nanny and Pop-pop's.





And all the while, colors of fall called to us from across the pond.

C.R.A.S.H. --- oh, no!

O.K. So I'm a goofball. At least I didn't get hurt.

So, this afternoon I was getting ready to conduct another telephone interview (for my job -- I'm doing some really fascinating national research) and I decided to make myself a cup of tea. So I turned on the burner to heat the teapot and went into my office.

At my computer. Getting my transcript template ready. Name the file. Get my print-out of the interview protocol set on the table. Check for the phone number I need to call.

BOOM!

Teapot. Stove. Wrong. Burner. No whistle. Pyrex. Casserole. Exploded.

I jump out of my chair and run to the kitchen. Holy. Hot. Glass. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.

Just that moment, literally about 2 seconds after the explosion, the phone rang. It was my boss. I didn't get to even think about cleaning up until after my 4 PM phone interview. And all the while, I could hear the crinkling of cooling hot glass. Yikes.

After the interview, I tiptoed into the kitchen and started scoping out my clean-up task. Whew. When I say it was EVERYWHERE, I really mean it!

On the stove, on the burners, in the burners.
Under the stove.
Between the stove and the counter.
INSIDE the stove (that was the weirdest! Can you figure out how it got there?).
On the dining room floor.
Under the edges of every kitchen cabinet.
Behind the pie safe.

I grabbed the broom and started sweeping. Or should I say, I tried to sweep up the broken glass. It wouldn't move -- the glass had melted into the floor and onto the counter.

And so I kicked the bigger pieces with the toe of my shoe. After repeated attempts, I was able to loosen some of it. Eventually, I had a pretty big pile of glass. Actually, two piles.

And I vacuumed up the shards of glass that I could see.

Later, as I started pulling myself together to make dinner, I found glass in some new, unexpected places.

In the downstairs bathroom! (the prize for the farthest!)

Inside the stacked mixing bowls on the rolling cart (the funniest)

Jeesh. I really liked that casserole dish, too.

I'm going to be finding teeny tiny bits of glass for days. . . no bare feet here.

And I'm thinking we're going to need to think about a new kitchen floor. Sooner than later.
Hmmm. . .

Note to self: NO more "air drying" of anything on the stovetop. Check, double-check, triple-check that you're turning on the RIGHT burner. Jeesh.