June 19, 2014

Amy says: 

It's raining today and that is the perfect opportunity to get our ducks in a row! We got up at the crack of dawn and began the laborious but exciting process of combing through pages of emails and lists and documents in order to reach out to all of our contacts along the route and check in to make sure they have what they need and finalize any last-minute details (although we all know the last minute is not actually until the last minute). We've spent a lot of time this week doing unexpected tasks. Painting our new front door bright orange, organizing the basement, scraping and sanding an old cabinet to turn it into a new pantry, mowing andweeding the lawn. I stopped yesterday to ask what, exactly, we were doing when we haven't packed a thing, we haven't been on the bicycle often enough, we haven't started that exercise regiment we swore we were going to start months ago, we have so much "to do" before we leave next Wednesday.

But I already knew the answer. We have time enough to get it done. Those things will get done or they won't, but either way this trip is happening. The wheels are in motion, the plans have been made, Little Free Library kits have been shipped, new friends are waiting.

But this is our new home. This is the place to which we will return at the end of this journey. This is the roof we will sleep under and the place we will live and commune and break bread and care for two teenage boys for several more years, until they are ready to fly the nest. And we are taking care of it, making it a safe place for them and for us to return to in August. This is the answer to the question, "What are we doing?"

Time to dust. Time to caress my house, to stroke all its surfaces. I want to think of it as a kind of lovemaking ...the chance to appreciate by touch what I live with and cherish. -Gunilla Norris

 

Maya says:

It's my dad's birthday today, and it feels apropos to mention this because I think I inherited my under-the-surface curiosity from him, that quiet burrowing of inquiry and investigation, the way he always does more watching than talking, and a very particular kind of paying attention. I noticed this as I took in the small details of today: the serenity of the porch, the cinnamon in my coffee, the flecks of rain on windbreaker, the feeling of excitement mounting as we edge toward departure. And it's funny how much all of this grounds me, how all around us people ask "Are you all ready to go?" and I say "not yet, but we will be" because I just know this is what happens. You're ready when you're ready. Sometimes, time wags its finger at you and that hastens the process. Other times, we take the leap after long and quiet hours of dedicated practice. 

I don't know, exactly, what's in store for us on the road. But I suspect we will take each thing as it comes, when it comes. We will do what we can to meet it with our best selves. To show up open and curious and engaged. Just like my father showed me.