I dubbed these rooms that I have called home for the past 19 months "The Romping House" in honor of the way that a certain little doggy tends to make her way from place to place in this apartment. Just 4 more nights sleeping here at The Romping House until the hinges that open and close the doors will never feel my touch again. I feel unhinged with all this uncertainty ahead, and many of the items that signal "certainty" to me are boxed up in little stacked containers, cluttering the wall space, the hallway. Something has been opened up and the wind is whistling through, the doors are unhinged and an unexpected future is unfolding. What keeps me steady through the winds of change? What will I find in the rooms that will contain my future? What new sights will signal "certainty" to me in the days to come?
This solid wooden roll-top desk has been with me since I was 11. 16 years of traveling together through the days. It holds old love letters, secrets, bank statements from 2004, a collection of unsharpened holiday pencils from mom, some paper weights from uncle Pat, and all of my files. I never seem to sit at it to work on things, but I need it just the same, to tell me that I am solid, that I am home.
Then there are the 2 crates full of give-away items. I see the pitcher (old, yellowed, sticky with oil) that my mom poured apple-sauce out of during my childhood picnics on the porch. I see a cutting board that I purchased on my first trip to Guatemala, age 19, the decal fallen off, the wood stained with mildew. These are the things people let go of, that will be adrift in a sea of Goodwill's donations until the end up thrown out and deemed unsell-able, or on the shelf of some stranger, blind to their beginnings.
Sadness abounds along with hope. I waiver from setting my sights on the horizon, where I will have new systems and a bigger living room, to looking backwards at my journey here in the Romping House that began in strife, moved towards independence and generosity, and is ending in gratitude (laced with the aromas of the zoo next door). So unhinge my future, oh sands of time, and lend me the grace to give openly and receive freely, in whatever spaces I move into next.
