Other People's Rooms

JC and I do a bit of traveling, and so we see a number of hotel rooms, which is not so bad. However, we hardly ever spend more than a day or two in a hotel, so I don't pay a whole lot of attention to them, aside from finding out how to work the TV, the shower, the thermostat and the lights. This summer, however, is a different kettle of fish--a whole new aquarium-load.

We are suspended between lives. In the east, we have our house on the market. If you've ever sold a house, you know the drill: throw out, hide, or store all your meaningful items in order to de-personalize your house. Potential buyers need to be able to see THEIR life inside that house. The end result is that what used to be our house is now a shell. We have moved out in all but actual fact. We're living in someone else's house, even though 'someone else' has no name as of yet. We are simply the household help.

On the other side of the country, we have a house to which we are adding a room. Until construction is complete, it is unlivable. No gas, no electric, no water. The furniture--and all our belongings-- is crammed into two rooms unaffected by the construction, that were accessible only via two zippered doors in plastic barriers. We rented an apartment nearby on our last visit. Other people's rooms again.

In between, we have visited our daughter and her family (hotel room, three days) and paid our annual visit  to Chautauqua, NY (one week, apartment rental) and another weekend trip to Shepherdstown, WVA, for the  Contemporary American Theater Festival (long weekend, hotel room). There may be a trip to NY (Hamilton!) this fall, and to Rhode Island in September as well (more hotel rooms..)

Being me, and suffering from the need to find meaning in even the most meaningless of events and coincidences and occurrences,  I insist upon thinking about all this and what it's teaching me.

1. Patience. Or, more accurately,  the NEED for patience. This untethered state is not my style. I like to make a decision, then act on it. I need to move on, but all our avenues are roadblocked by construction schedules, required inspections, selling the house, and other events beyond my control. I like having things under control. (I see you all, snickering..)

2. Observation. All these places we are stopping at have different ways of doing things, whether it be pillow arrangement, furniture placement, or TV offerings. I'm finding out what's important, what we like, what we can live without, brands of washer/dryers that drive us crazy, color combinations that work, and loads of other things at various levels of importance. I am Goldilocks, stepping into the lives of the three bears: that bed's too hard, that washer too noisy, that kitchen too spartan,  that chair just right...Why have I never noticed all these things before?

3. Lifestyle choices. I like being somewhere where I can walk to things. But I also like having a car handy when I can't or when the weather is inclement. I like having a library nearby, and using it makes more sense than buying books that I ultimately have to store. I like volunteering for things--and this gypsy existence doesn't allow for that right now. I like having quiet time, though. There is a reason why I generally write more when I'm in California or just NOT in Virginia. There just aren't as many demands on my time--or cable channels on TV-- to steal hours of my life.

4. Freedom. I really like not having to think about whether it's too hot or too cold or too humid or too rainy when I'm planning to go somewhere or do something.  About the only factors we need to consider when going someplace in San Diego are timing and traffic. In Virginia, it's the heat and humidity--and timing and traffic. (Have you tried leaving Alexandria at 5 PM?) Traffic wreaks havoc  round any decision, no matter where we are, I fear.

5. Distance. In addition, I like being outside the beltway, outside all the political angst and angles, particularly during this god-awful year. Granted, we get ads and news coverage elsewhere--but not to the extent we experience in Virginia. I dread stepping into that arena, and experiencing the political frenzy of the lead-up to the election. And the phone calls. The unceasing solicitation phone calls. I get a few on my cell, but nowhere near the number that come through on the landline in Virginia.

6. Uncertainty. And through it all, I worry and wonder. My brain is full of 'what-if's. What if the house doesn't sell? What if it DOES and we can't find a place we like? What if the place we THINK we'll like turns out to be impossible? Can we do without an outside space? Will we end up moving in the dead of winter? How well can we predict what we can live with? How do we decide what will go and what will stay and what will be disposed of? And how will we ship/store/dispose of all this stuff?

At this point (unsold house, not-quite-finished addition, indefinite goals and deadlines) I just assume all will be well, sooner or later. The things I worry about will either resolve themselves, or we'll deal with them as they arise. This lack of movement is temporary. I hope. Maybe by next summer, all the balls-in-the-air will have finally come to earth and rolled off to their respective corners. I'd been hoping that would happen by this fall, but, for now, we are still learning in all these areas. Still hoping. Still wondering. And juggling, always juggling.