Bittersweet, Part 3

(This is the third in a series of three moments during which I realized that leaving here is not completely without poignant sentiment.)

The third time came Tuesday, as the kitchen was being packed around me.  I was sitting at the kitchen table while half a dozen or so movers (packers?) were moving all over the house, packing and organizing and labeling.  The house is no longer ours, for all intents and purposes.  I typed this on Tuesday, and it doesn’t actually change hands until Friday, but the terms and conditions were met long ago, and with all our belongings slowly disappearing into clouds of paper and mounds of cardboard, we’re all but gone from here.

We plan to sleep here until they actually load our belongings on Thursday, and we won’t be moving into the new place until Friday.  As of today, we can no longer cook here and will be forced to rely on either the microwave or restaurants for our meals until we’re actually unloaded in the new place next Monday.  Because of all this, there is soon to be very little of “us” here.  Once again, there’s that bittersweet feeling.

As I realized this, I decided I needed to make note of these emotions while I was feeling them.  I had planned to write in my BOS about this move, but it was nowhere near me.  Neither was this computer, so I wrote it in our “Moving Notebook,” an inexpensive spiral notebook in which we made notes when we were leaving Vancouver.  We used it on the trip from BC to California, and again when on the move from California to Ontario. 

It probably fits better there than anywhere else.

[Update:  The movers did not finish on Thursday, as was planned.  They need an extra day.  But that's alright, because the buyers ran into a glitch with their paperwork, so they won't actually be taking possession until Monday.  I write this update in an exhausted condition in a hotel.  We still plan to be out tomorrow, move cats to their new home, pick up the boys for a weekend visit in said new home, and collapse in exhaustion.

Wish us luck.]

Bittersweet, Part 2

(This is the second in a series of three moments during which I realized that leaving here is not completely without poignant sentiment.)

The second time was Monday, the first day the movers were here to start the packing and moving process.  I meandered into the living room after it had been packed, and there it was--my spot.  The spot where I sat in this house seven years ago, when it was still empty, waiting for a snow-blower delivery that couldn’t be done any other day.  It was cold that day, but I didn’t want to turn on the heat because I was only going to be there for a short while.  I was a bit early, though, so I wandered through the house, enjoying the space of its emptiness, planning where furniture would go, admiring the snow-covered scenes out the windows, and reveling in the fact that this gorgeous, classic house was now ours.  And I did love it then, despite how I eventually came to feel about it.  (I’d forgotten that.)  Eventually, the time for the delivery came close, and I went down to the living room.  From that room you can see both the street and the driveway.  I lit the gas fireplace for warmth (and for the sheer joy of needing it—we’d just moved here from California, after all.)  I sat there on the floor, listening to my iPod (This was way, way before my iPhone, or even my Touch.  This was one of the original ones with the wheel, the one that only played music.) and trying to read while watching for the delivery truck.  It turned out to be late, so I probably spent close to forty-five minutes there on that spot, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.  The snow-blower eventually arrived (the same one that we sold to our neighbor last week.)

We placed a storage chest in that spot, so I never really saw it or even thought about it again.  Until yesterday, when I remembered that once upon a time, on a cold, lonely morning, I knew it well.

Remembering it is…bittersweet.

Bittersweet – Part 1

I didn’t think THIS move would be bittersweet.  After all, we’ve been waiting to sell this house for close to three years now.  And we’re just basically moving down the road.  We’re still staying here in Ontario, still staying in Canada.  We’re not particularly close to any of our neighbors, or to the area.  There’s no reason to not want to move forward.  But it’s still just a bit sad.  This is the third time I’ve actually slowed down enough to realize that. 

(I started writing this and realized that it was getting too long, so I’ve decided to split it into three parts.  Today I’ll cover the first instance.)

The first time I felt it was when our “puppies” left to go to Dogs in the Park this past Sunday.  (They’re enjoying a week-long vacation there to help alleviate moving stress, for them and for us.)  As we were getting ready to leave that morning, I realized they wouldn’t ever see this house, and especially this yard, again.  Now, they have no idea.  They’ve never REALLY moved before.  But I knew, and I was sad for them.  This is where we brought them home.  This is where they grew up, where they met each other, where Lance both met and said goodbye to Merly.  This is where they learned to love the cold and snow of winter, savor the cooling winds of autumn, and hate the humid heat of summer.   This is where they learned to enjoy wading pools, sprinklers, and hoses, and where Lance taught Kai to chase him.  This is where they always came back to after a long day of play, a day of training, or after a stressful stay at temporary quarters.  This is the only place they’ve ever known as home. 

At the same time, they’ll be going on to new homes and new adventures, and they’ll still be with their peeps. They’ll meet new people who will love them, and they’ll expand their horizons. They’ll be exposed to new things, which is good for them.  Perhaps most importantly, this is good practice for the BIG move coming next fall.  They’re gaining many, many good things at the same time they’re losing some.

 So this is, as the title reads, bittersweet.  

F is for Forests

For the Pagan Blog Project:

Growing up in the semi-arid desert of South Texas, the only way I saw forests was in magazines or on television.  Sure, there were small copses of mesquite trees, but no one in their right mind would rightly call these thickets a forest!

The first time I ever saw a real forest, I was in my early twenties.  A friend and I took a road trip up into New Mexico in January.  It was the first time I had seen either forest or any real amount of snow.  Together, they were so beautiful I made him pull over, got out of the car, and stood there at the side of the road and just cried.  (I didn’t know until then that it was true you could shed tears purely from seeing something beautiful.)

The next time I saw a real forest, I was about thirty.  This time, my DH and I flew into Seattle to meet some friends.  Together with them, we drove up to Vancouver to see other friends.  On the way, both my DH and I gawked out the windows and kept repeating, “Look at the trees!” in voices filled with absolute awe.  I’m sure our friends wanted to murder us by the time we got to Vancouver, but we just couldn’t get over the sight of those thick, luscious, unbelievable TALL, trees.

DH and I eventually moved to Vancouver, and I experienced forest after forest after forest there.  Glades and hollows and hidden meadows and, of course, huge, enormous, TREES!  From there, we moved to California, where I wandered amongst redwoods.  Then we came here to Ontario, where the views of autumn are not to be believed.

So, as you might be able to tell, forests are very meaningful to me.  Even when I was nominally Catholic, I always felt I could feel God in the forests.

Then I found Wicca.  Or perhaps it found me.

My religion has grown to all of nature, but forests still hold a special place in me.  I once upon a time thought I could feel God there.  Now, I feel the God and especially the Goddess in those green and red and gold and crimson depths SO much more!  

Whenever I picture Her, She is surrounded by the dark, dark green of deep, old-growth forest.  There is often a stone seat near Her, or perhaps She is standing by a trickling brook, flowing over moss-covered rocks.  A very few shafts of sunlight filter through the thick branches to reach the soft floor.  She wears a flowing, gauzy gown in a shade of green fitting the season, or perhaps in a shade of bark-brown, and despite the darkness of the woods, She glows.  Whenever I walk along a quiet wooded path, I feel Her presence so strongly I feel She is walking beside me.

(I think of Him in the forest, too, but then I think of brighter woods and game trails, and dark nights on those trails.  I think of Him either surrounded by animals, or hunting them, depending on his mood.  Or maybe He can do both at once.)

So, you see, it is no surprise to me that forests are sacred.  Or that I am part of a religion in which they fit so well.  Or that I knew this deep down inside long before I ever heard of that religion.)

The Goddess calls to Her own, after all.

First

I've been looking for a way to get back into blogging regularly, not to mention getting more witchy on this blog, and I think I've found it!  The Pagan Blog Project is similar to a couple of things I've tried before, but I think it'll work better for me. 

ABC Wednesday's posts were mostly pictures, and since my posts are mostly text, it always made me feel inadequate and out of place. Being the only pagan blogger I ever found there didn't help, either.  Don't get me wrong--the people there were wonderfully friendly and supportive, and they have a GREAT project.  It simply didn't work for me.

Pagan Blog Prompts is also great, it gives me lots of inspiration.  But I rarely, if ever, actually seem to write it up.  Maybe my muse finds specific topics too limiting, I don't know.  Whatever the cause, I'm not writing.

In contrast, the Pagan Blog Project (PBP) is all about the Craft and it's at least as much about writing as it is about visual art.  It's also just limited by the first letter in a topic, so plenty of freedom for my muse.  I'm a little late jumping into it, as I just found it today, but I'm hoping I can actually stick with it to the end of the year!

I realize this first post isn't truly about anything spiritual or pagan, but my first post being on an 'F' Friday was too serendipitous to miss!  I promise next week will be much more on-topic.

I can't wait!

Retrograde Problems

Finally, we've actually been able to lease a house, so we won't be homeless come April.  After two separate lease offers not working (the first wanted twice as long a lease period as we were willing to give, the second just never got back to us), we were getting seriously worried.  Neither of us have rented in over ten years, and neither of us have rented in Ontario.  We didn't realize just how difficult it would be find a place that would accept our two huge dogs.

Still, that's behind us now.  As of two days ago, we have a signed and accepted lease agreement for a house not too far from DH workplace.

What was surprising to me was how much of an affect Mercury's Retrograde had on the process.  I generally avoid starting anything new on retrograde days, and I'd never really noticed any problems, other than maybe general psychological 'blahs.'  The same was true this time--we weren't starting anything, we were finishing it, or so I thought.

Then the trouble started.  We simply had to initial a couple of changes on the lease we'd already signed, and send it back to our realtor.  First, a small one--the pen wouldn't work.  No problem, just replace it.  Then, with three separate computers, we had problem after problem after problem with our printer/scanner.  One couldn't see it at all.  Another said it was offline even though we could see it wasn't.  Etc, etc., etc..  When we finally got the six or so pages digitally scanned, the pdf document was too large for Gmail's limits, and DH was not able to log into his work account to do it from there.  Okay, so we have to scan it again, and break it into two pieces.  More difficulty.  Aaaaargh!!!!  (And all the time, our realtor is waiting at her office for the document, so she can send it to the landlord's realtor.  This was going on between seven and eight pm, mind you.) 

We finally got the document where it was supposed to be, but all that trouble was AMAZING.  We're talking about two fairly tech savvy individuals, working with programs and equipment we've both used literally hundreds of times before, and with which we don't usually have any trouble.

The only thing I could figure is that the universe saw this as a beginning, not an ending.