I wrote to you last on August 12th.
Today is September 15th.

That’s a long time.
Way longer than I’ve ever laid dormant in 3 1/2 years of writing here.
(If you’re in need of a back-up-the-theme musical interlude, try “There’s a First Time for Everything” by Little Texas.
An “eh” classic country tune that I definitely owned on CD in middle school.)

Anyhow.

I’ve been curled up in my little turtle shell.

nah, not quite.

I’m more like an armadillo.

Wrapped in my silvery armor plates, head down, nose snuffling along the ground, running all over the place doing the stuff, digging the holes, burying, hiding, scraping away with my pointy little claws, and rolling up into a ball when necessary.

That’s me right now.

See, at first, I was too darn overwhelmed and tired to write.
After we moved a few weeks ago.
From our house that we adore
to a rental – only 10 houses away – for which we are eternally grateful.

And at this moment, our house house has some plastic sheeting stuff protecting the open walls.
Our house has no roof on the garage.
Our house has holes around it exposing the foundation.
Our house has a dumpster out front.
Our house has closed shades.
Our house has empty rooms.
Our house has a pallet of bagged concrete mix in the yard.
And our house has a port-a-potty in the driveway.

Meanwhile, our rental is as wonderful as could be.
Filled with our furniture and our pictures and our family.
Around the corner from our house house.

And still I miss our house house.
Our home..

I miss doing the laundry without having to think about every step of the process.
I miss knowing where my utensils are. (Where did I put the spatula again?)
I miss my kids taking for granted their space and their own rooms.
I miss looking out my front windows at the towering pines behind my neighbor’s house.
I miss my screened-in porch.

I miss everyone running on autopilot and not needing me quite so much.

Me the security.
Me the foundation.
Me the steady.
Me the solid.

And I know I’m deeply grateful for…
some other stuff.
Lots of other stuff.

I am. I really am. (I’m sure of it.)

But mostly I’m feeling whiny, cranky, sad, mad and like the scritchy, itchy stalks and sticks surrounding the fluffy, soft plant gone to seed in the photo above.

Wish I could be that puffball ready to let go with the wind.
I really do.
But I’m not.
So there’s that.

And that’s cool. Because one day the breeze will come – and I’ll find myself aloft once more.

But for now, I’ll itch and scritch and twitch my way through this change.
This thing that I don’t have a map for.

In the midst of a bigger thing that none of us have a map for.

We’re on our way.

Take good care,
Rachel