It is only recently that I began sleeping through the night again. And so, I thought it time to look in the mirror. And then make a hair appointment ASAP.
The previous nine months have involved the planning of, construction of, paying of and, finally, about a month ago, the moving in and possession of a new home. During that gestation, not only were chaos and sleep deprivation the order of the day, time for hobbies, friendships and personal maintenance disappeared. Looking in the mirror could be seriously depressing...the bags under the eyes, the grey needing to be touched up, the thought of spending another day in old, paint-stained cast-off shirts of my husband.
I am now sitting in my beautiful new living room and loving it. Friends and family showed up to unpack boxes and move clothes at just the right time. My husband and I are still married and both learned a lot about compromising along the way. I did not need to buy any new furniture, actually managing to downsize and shed some, and we have sold the house we moved out of. My husband decided to let go of his thirty-old hockey equipment on his own. Life is good...and strangely calm. However, if an electrician or plumber where to suddenly emerge from the basement with a question I would not be surprised.
During construction and even after the move in, I had to be sure to hop out of bed at an early hour and be dressed and ready for whatever the day would bring. Normally contractors and their apprentices--guys wearing baseball caps, sunglasses and stopping mid-sentence to answer calls--would all show up at once and want me to make decisions on the spot. The decision made almost always involved me running to the flooring store or paint store or Home Depot. (I became such a regular at the latter that one day while shopping for bathroom fixtures I got paged to the front to be informed that a light was also in for me. The staff had seen me come in and recognized me.)
I like to bake cookies on a regular basis and fully intended to show up on the job site with warm baked goods at coffee break time throughout the construction process. Our sum total of offerings were pizzas that my husband delivered a couple of times at lunchtime and two boxes of doughnuts that I picked up for them as I made another swing past Tim Horton's, the second time that day.
It felt a lot like I imagine being whipped around and around and across the landscape in a tornado cone would feel. And when it stops there you are sitting on the ground, a little stunned, grateful to find yourself intact, bewildered by the calm after the fury.
It is taking me a bit of time to get used to the calm. I have been told by mothers of the bride that it takes the same amount of time to get back to normal after a wedding as went into planning the thing. Maybe a move is the same.
I do know my brain is happy to no longer be stretched to capacity. It likes to be empty enough to ponder the big questions. Like, should I get my nails done when I get a haircut? Should I call a neglected friend for lunch? Maybe buy some new spring clothes? And if I get bored, I can always go back at the oddball boxes waiting to be unpacked. Yesterday I found my stapler, the lint brush and my yogurt-maker. I am still on the hunt for a favourite platter but have to wonder just what I was thinking when I allowed the candle-snuffer to make the move.
Thankfully the folks at Rebuilt Resources, although they too now recognize my vehicle as it backs up to the door, always smile and help me offload more treasures.
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