Still orienting myself to our new abode, I take a morning wander. So much is bearing fruit.
Bearings
On the Big Screen
Our new house comes with a big screen. That is, a big flat TV screen that (shhh…don’t tell Jeb) has cable.
We are typically a TV-free home. I’ve never actually owned a television. We get our fair share of media, but it’s always been through selective web searches or our Netflix subscription (which can I just say, is fairly silly, as over 50% of the time the movie we want to ‘watch instantly’ is “unavailable”).
Still sampling dimmer switches and exploring cupboard spaces in our new home, the Bohemian and I take the opportunity to check out cable TV while Jeb is gone for the night. The possibilities seem endless with channels galore.
Much to our dismay, we scan through 100 channels of television commercials, impassioned “news” programs, sports highlights and late night TV hosts chatting about nothing. We turn it off and wander outside.
It’s a dark, new moon night. We lay a blanket on the grass and go horizontal to the sky. The summer air is warm, the scent of puakinikini mingling with the melody of crickets.
“So show me where you’re from up there,” the Bohemian says.
My eyes scan the constellations for a hint. I sigh. “I don’t remember.”
But I do remember the first time I really saw this big screen display. I was five years old in the foothills, cozy inside the light blue, down sleeping bag next to a fire. The sky so black, the stars so infinite. I was in awe. Staring until my eyelids fell deeply into sleep.
“Look at that satellite,” the Bohemian points. “It’s going so fast.”
And it is. Moving with great speed through starlight.
“I wonder what it’s doing up there.”
He laughs. “Probably trying to find something good to put on TV.”
We rest in quiet. Watch occasional clouds cover stellar patches, whisping peeks of keyholes to the cosmos.
Then we both see it. The strong, white streak arching overhead. We catch our breath at the display. Feel the elation of beholding a shared vision.
Shooting stars will never be dull.
“Now that…was fast!”
Elevated
The Archives come to you from a new chair.
We have officially moved into our home, gained an additional family member (of the canine variety), and are slowly finding spots for the potted plants. In the mix of all the boxes and newspaper wrappings, I celebrated my 40th birthday.
I spent that day alone, checking out of internet and phone, and enjoying the process of unpacking and arranging. At one point in the day, I was out in the yard moving pots of orchids and succulents. My thoughts were happy, my mood inspired. I was barefoot in soft grass.
As I carried plants in my arms, my steps were suddenly stalled when I felt a searing pain in the arch of my right foot. I moved to my knees and looked back on the path to see a small stump of a chopped shrub, low and camouflaged in the dirt, sticking up to a sharp point. It felt like my foot had been cut with a blade, so I was relieved to see it was not a rusty piece of metal. But the arch was deeply sliced, the blood gushing.
For two days now, I’ve been carefully washing and dressing this quite inconvenient wound. No stitches necessary, but my gait has been slowed. After all of that moving and hustling, maybe this is life’s way of downshifting my pace.
The new dog in our life – let’s call him Moodha – loves a lap. So I nestle in. Soak up this fresh environment and all the lessons it is teaching. Slow down. Take it easy. Put my feet up.
I’ve got a dog on my thigh that just likes to be. The sun rises from a slightly different angle through the window. My foot is elevated. I’m smiling in the early morning hour. Feeling very, very grateful.
Typing from a new chair.
For the Archives 