It’s snowing outside. The first snow of the season. I am sitting here, sipping my tea, watching the flakes dance down and I am in love.
I love the snow. I love the peacefulness of it, the white covering of all that is dirty or old, the deafening sound of quiet, and the chill it brings into the air reminding me I am alive. And honestly, thoughts of Thanksgiving and Christmas fill my thoughts, my two favorite times of the year.
I am in the final push of packing this morning and my body is aching from all I have done so far. I’m trying to get up the courage to push past the pain and pack up the pictures, the clothes, the all the straggles waiting to be packed. It’s not easy as this old grey mare ain’t what she used to be. So I push it off, watching the snow.
I’ve done all the packing myself. I don’t say this as a pity thing. People have offered. But I don’t know, I’m not sure it would go any faster by telling him/her where things go. And, do I really want to take the time to explain to people my make-sense-to-me packing techniques? Besides, I’m getting used to doing things by myself.
As I’ve said before and I’ll say it again, life has now handed me a do-it-yourself-life. And, as I have proven over and over and over again, I can handle it. I have handled it. I will handle it. Don’t like it. Didn’t want it. But I have have handled it. My four-month-before self would have not believed what I have achieved on my own these past months. But, I’m here and I have. I’ve packed, arranged, signed, and readied every aspect of this move, this move forward.
Okay, so my boxes are not perfect. Oh, I labeled them – sure, I forgot what’s in them – but I did label them generically as “kitchen”, “bathroom”, “living room” and “bedroom”. And yeah, some of the rooms are intermingled and yeah, I didn’t label ALL the boxes – pfbbt, that’s crazy talk. No matter. With each box I open, I’ll be a surprise, like Christma which is kind of fitting with the snow now. Besides, the boxes sort of represents the bridge between my new organizational self – ok, ok, Betsy Organized – and the scatter self that needs to be with me, always. I’m finding metaphors among the ruins…of boxes. My Philosophy Minor does mean something despite what Peter thought.
I don’t know how this will all play out on Saturday. I’m sure something will break. I’ll forget this or that. I’ll panic. I’ll get upset. I’ll become overwhelmed. I’ll be feeling my blood pressure rise. I’ll snap at someone. I’ll not be calm. (I don’t think I’m selling the joys of helping me unpack too well to my daughter. She’ll be with me on Saturday. Her and LL Cool Dog.) But by Saturday night, it’ll be done and I’ll look around and say, “I did this”…well, and my daughter and LL Cool Dog. But really, how much can LL do? She’s kind of lazy. I love her, but she is.
So, as I sit here, sipping my tea, procrastinating among the stuff still in need of packing, I think about how I am a few days away from moving out, not permanently, but temporarily, sporadically, dual citizenship wise. It seems fitting the snow came today. With its blanket over the old season, come reminders of my own newness in life. Life handed it to me once Death took Peter. And I have been struggling with it ever since. But you know what? I am still here. I’m still moving forward. I’m still alive…drinking tea, watching the snow and getting ready to pack up the rest of what I need for the beginning of my own first snow.