Part II

The sad truth is, like Her Bad Mother, I cannot write about the rest of the strangeness. Unlike Part I, the improbably story of finding unknown family here in the back woods, the rest of the strangeness was all bad, full of pain and hurt feelings and probably some much-needed personal growth, too, because they usually all travel together...but that doesn't mean it was good or kind or wished-for. I am, to use cryptic and uninteresting words, still processing it all.

Meanwhile, here at the ranch, uh, farm, I am having my first moments--now turned into days--of regret, indecision, and overt, teary sadness about our move. (Hey, I have some problems feelings my feelings, so maybe it just takes me a while? And maybe it's related to the emotional beat-down of last week? ) I'm not sorry, exactly, to have moved, but I have been feeling desperately lonely, completely inept, and downright woeful. Some of it, I think, is also about the turn in the weather: not just leaves are falling, but temperature, too, and it reminds me of short, dark, cold days to come. The breeze and the loamy smell of wet leaves that greet me on my morning walks this week are replacing the ethereal waft of ripening apples. I signed up for all this, of course, in moving here, but I fear it, too.


Alto2 said...

These feelings are not so much regrets as the end of the honeymoon period. You were fortunate enough to move at a beautiful time of year. As summer's bounty gives way to autumn's perpetual loss, you're coming down from your high. Now is the time to double your effort to make friends there, to keep in touch with old friends, and to dig your feet in to your new life. I have totally BTDT -- when I moved from Miami to rural PA with a brand new husband. If you email me privately, I'll share more with you.

As for the unmentionable strangeness, I'll bet good money it had to do with your mother. Much of the strangeness in my own life has to do with my mother. You'll work through it all. Until then, be like Her Bad Mother and have a martini!

rebecca said...

Oh, I don't know, autumn's just a sad time, here in the heart of nature. It's good to get close to what we fear, yes? Oooh, I'm sensing your next read here: Heart of Darkness. Something mysterious and profound and frightening about moving into what scares us.

Or maybe it's High School Musical 2: The Book. I just can't tell yet.

I feel it every year and it never seems to go away, entirely. I don't weep openly, in the check-out aisle of Stop & Shop and at red lights etc., as I used to when we first moved here, from usually-sunny DC. But it's a melancholy time, and it's part of our natures too, so in there somewhere is something lovely, we have to believe.

OH! We're having newly-sprung mommy's brunch the first day of school, are you in?!

Mieke said...

You know those 70 year old women in miniskirts and high heels with faces that pulled back tightly by a Beverly Hills doc.? Well, I realized a few years ago that they weren't actually as pathetic as they looked, they, like me, have just not noticed the passing of time. Living in the land of perpetual summer, we have missed the subtle whisper that the smell of decaying leaves and cold hard earth delivers. I am 39 but in my mind I am still 26, the age I was when I moved here. There has never been a winter just one long sunny day after another.

There is a melancholy that the falling leaves and long nights bring, the reminder that nothing is forever. But, you know what Paige, I miss that. When I was home for my -gulp - 20th high school reunion last fall. I had forgotten the power of the smell of decay. I miss it.

I hope your winter is filled with fun jaunts into the city for the Thanksgiving Day parade, train rides, ice skating on your pond, and snow shoeing (Francesca loves that!).

Plus - you know you can always pop over here for a sunny fix if you need it.