There was this moment yesterday where I wandered down to the basement, a place I’ve tended to avoid unless I’m cleaning out the litter box because wading through all those boxes yet to be unpacked as well as MOUNTAINS of packing paper was just too daunting . . . and discovered bare patches and a path through all the detritus. Yes, there are still many, many boxes to unpack (and here I thought I’d done such a good job of debridement), but I see the end. Eventually. Presuming we find another couple bookshelves (we already have eight portables) and/or simply box what remains in plastic tubs and call it a day.
So that’s good. The number of construction and repair people has diminished, too. Looking ahead, I see that only one day next week will be taken up with house stuff, which is fine by me.
Also set up the bird feeder yesterday, minus a baffle that simply didn’t want to stay in place. Figure one more trip to the bird place to swap out for a torpedo design, and then we’re set. As of last night and early this morning, a few nuthatches, titmouses, and chickadees have found the feeder. So have a couple squirrels, but they’re little ‘uns, and haven’t figure out how to climb up the pole yet. I figure if they learn how, I’ll grease that sucker until I can pick up a new baffle this afternoon.
Right now, sitting outside to write this, I am also watching swarms of hummingbirds performing aerial acrobatics around the feeders. I have three up, but I’m thinking that’s too few. Seriously. There are four hummers fighting over one not fifteen feet away and a couple cheeky girls come to perch on the deck and wait their chance next to my rocker.
Last night, watched Wisconsin get their collective heads handed to them on a platter. Ugly game, but a saving grace: one of our fellow ex-pat cheeseheads suggested we all get together and root for the Badgers to somehow pull it out. They didn’t, but it was nice to hang with folks who were all pulling for the other team in Red and White. We all moaned about the same things, too–another plus–although I had lunch earlier this week with two very nice women, both married to physicians, who agreed: there are no good grocery stores here.
Although I did find an Amish farmers’ market not too far away. Just wandered in on a whim. Found big tubs of collard and turnip and mustard greens, potatoes, luscious-looking tomatoes, eggs, lady peas (haven’t had those for almost 50 years, since Tennessee), and everything else that’s pretty much in season here. They also had real fried pies (not those tepid imitations you get at McDonald’s or from Little Debbie) as well as real Amish white bread. If you’ve never had this stuff, it’s great, especially toasted.
There are no butcher shops here, so meat is kind of a challenge. Of course, it helps that we only eat that once a week; the husband insists on a slab every Friday with his cocktail. Finally stumbled on a place that had a pretty nice variety of grass-fed stuff as well as decent-looking chicken and beef brats.
The real find: a really nifty Asian market. It’s out a ways and sort of a shlep but so worth it. Their produce is terrific; they even have nice big hunks of homemade tofu and bottles of German Maggi (I was only able to get the American version before), although I’ve heard that the French variety is to die for. Folks running the shop were very nice and happily divided bags of sprouts since I wasn’t feeding an army.
So, all good.
There are things I still haven’t managed: a real Friday cocktail (we’ve been invited here and there the past few weeks) or a Sunday’s cake (the husband just started work this past Tuesday and still wants to get the lay of the land before he starts toting cake caddies).
I started a new outline in earnest, only to realize yesterday that I was repeating myself. As I hashed it out with the husband, though, another twist occurred to me that was most definitely not something I’ve done before. This will mean revising, but at least it wasn’t a dead stop, and that’s also a nice change.
Which is, i suppose, only natural that things might start to slowly shift into some kind of new normal.
It is also true that everything is relative (and eventual). I was thinking about that earlier this week as the Syrian refugee thing continues to play itself out. (And does it occur to anyone else how very suddenly this seems to have gotten worse? I don’t think it has anything to do with the news outlets’ coverage per se and everything to do with people overcoming inertia: one group goes and then another and another and another and pretty soon, you’ve got a tidal wave of desperate people.) Goes without saying that almost nothing we deal with–the collective we now–holds a candle to what’s happening to these people. I’ve had the barest inkling and that’s only because a Syrian girl from Damascus actually contacted me through Goodreads about a year ago. We’ve been corresponding fairly regularly, and so I’ve learned how her life is so extremely circumscribed. She goes to school and dreams of studying and teaching English literature, but that’s far, far in a future she can’t quite see. Sometimes she teeters on despair. Her family can’t leave–no money–so they’re all crammed into a relatively small space she rarely gets to leave. She and her sister try to stay out of each other’s way, and everyone simply muddles on.
It’s humbling, really. The only thing I’ve been able to do is listen, though I did also manage to figure out a way of getting a book to her. (Can’t send anything through the mail; the USPS won’t deliver overseas to Syria. Thankfully, I know a Syrian physician whose brother was going over to see family, and he graciously volunteered to hand-deliver the book.) It was a tiny little something and what I was able to do, but the girl was thrilled and that was neat.
I don’t know where I’m going with this. This likely all seems paltry to you, and certainly none of this is a new concept, even if it’s one I’ve had to re-learn. Maybe there’s no point I’m making here other than people adapt. This is not the same as acceptance, you understand, or resignation. But you do have to push through whatever tsuris comes your way. Honestly, what other choice is there? Sure, there is still plenty not to be so thrilled about where I’m living now, but continuing to be pissed is not only futile . . . it’s DUMB, not to mention too damn exhausting. I mean, my God . . . think of that Syrian girl who’s pushing on with her studies deespite the odds. Yes, she is sometimes hopeless but then rebounds . . . because what other choice, besides giving up, is there?
Right. None.
That’s all. That’s enough.
