Recently, my roommate and I moved to a new residence. There’s nothing quite like nesting afresh (in a good way) and nothing quite like moving in Central Texas heat at the end of June (in a bad way). It was a scorcher, but the day had an end and the new apartment was ours, so we did what we could to keep lifting the boxes. At the end of the day we sat on a hardwood floor, slurped some popsicles and drank Chardonnay like soda-pop. We drank and dreamt and talked about important things, but I’d like to think that the fluidness of that hour or two- the swish-swash of cooling off and settling in as best we could was the most important thing of all.
It seems that most people, including myself, make big deals of homecomings and housewarmings. Betty Crocker’s business. In part, I believe homemaking is a kind of christening. Gladly, I break such sacredness into the humdrum because it’s graceful to name the ways in which we belong. After all, good belonging, sounds and feels a lot like beloved- and really, what else is there? If I can say I’ve belonged to one or two or three beloveds and they’ve belonged to me, I think I would feel quite complete and quite…well, in love.
So this has got me to thinking: when we talk about homecoming, I want to already be home. Am I terribly impatient? I find myself scheming how it is I might nest all at once. Picture: Banana nut muffins baking, while the cable guy is doing his thing. In between batches, I’ll send out my change of address emails and swiffer the floor because the rug I ordered should be delivered any day now.
Or was it on backorder?
This hasn’t happened (yet), but I think it could. Such compulsion isn’t very cozy, but it happens to all of us in and on our own time, probably because waiting is sort of a bitch. And sometimes I think all good paintings, novles, songs…soul-food really is about the angst-old question of human-hood: “could this be home?” The redemptive part that keeps us reading and listening and looking (and from slitting our wrists) translates to: “well, let’s make it home for now.”
I don’t know if this angst is good or bad or healthy or unhealthy. Maybe it’s just plain dramatic. Drama queen or not, I feel almost-home-ness a lot, and the feeling is pretty real. I know that’ s sort of a paper-thin response. Sorry. Elusiveess helps me to hold things lightly- throw up my hands, and say things, like “it is what it is.” And at the end of the day- this is what it is: me and my friend, settling in just as best as we can; cross-legged, delirious and thankful for sweet popsicles and sweeter wine.