I am being stared at, by hares, as the sun breaks over the horizon, jetting the entire dawn sky pink. I smile, staring at the hasenpfeffers, as I whiz by their early curbside breakfast, realizing how perfectly insane that view from my driver’s window would be, a couple of weeks ago, in New York City.
But these two weeks have been a whirlwind and a revelation. I think about this, as I turn the corner, the one with the old white-washed 1800’s house with the saffron robes hanging on the washing line. I smile, knowing that a week ago, I discovered a Buddhist Monk living their, the stark contrast of house and owner making me grin even more. Even here, it is New Yawka strange.
I turn a corner, the one with the small modern house which boasts a colonial barn that has been converted into a two-car garage. This sort of jumbled modern and prim living, the long rolling hills, the strange winding roads, are the charm that have plastered themselves into my heart. It is a ragtag world quilted into a bodacious world here, full of surprises and beauty amongst it’s everyday living. I am swooning with the atmosphere of it.
But mostly, I am happy about today’s journey which--unlike the past two weeks--highlights an unusual celebration; I am about to set down roots, if even for a short time. Indeed, this little car of mine carries a few humble boxes, half of my life. And for a year and a day, I will be ensconced in a teeny cottage, a temporary home.
Here, there will be work, but there will be other opportunities. There are wishes to be had here, dreams to continue and work on. There are bittersweet ponderings, too, as I wonder if my father would ever approve of this latest crazy scheme. I think of him, this past Father’s Day, fresh as a widow bride, and there is grief but small smiles as I realize he would have understood, for I was the daughter --as he would say--“as crazy as I am.”
And so my world is about unveiling small trinkets, pocketfuls of hope, old things I have acquired in journeys, and other sentimentalities....
There is more wistfulness unpacking this little world than expected, as I realize I am
doing it alone, and somewhere I hope that there is a man missing me as much as I miss him.
It is a far away and crazy risk I am taking here, there are parts of me that don’t know what I am doing here, and parts of me that isn’t surprised one bit by this capriciousness.
In the meantime, I am hoping so many little hold-your-breath hopes, during this year of so much stretching. They are big and small hopes, but all real and meaningful in my humble, furniture-less house. As with everything, there are so many possibilities, these little ideas written in scrawl from so long ago...such as….
1. Planting a real garden
2. Preserving some food
3. Continuing folk art
4. Returning to some sort of performing arts
5. Finally playing the fiddle (Big Red did end up in PA, after all!)
6. Horses, horses, horses---of course(s)!
7. Starting a barter community
8. Writing, and writing some more…
And that’s just for starters. I know it sounds ambitious, but the clock never stops ticking. There is a life to be lived, in this House of Wishes. I only hope to muster enough courage and energy to do it all.
And so it is, the year of wishes…
So I ask you, my Friends: what are YOUR wishes?