A tree fell on my house in the woods. When you live in the woods, that can be expected, I suppose, especially when a hurricane passes through on it’s way to perform truly news-worthy damage in places farther north. Helene was the storm’s name, and it showed up in north-central Florida on September 26. Some friends had visitedisi immediately prior to that date. They left and headed north a few days before Helene, or they would have been sleeping in the room that was destroyed.
The next day we left our house with a tree in it and moved a half an hour south and into a lovely home that our daughter-in-law’s mother vacated to accomodate us. Neither of us could at that time imagine how long our displacement would take place, but here we are coming up on the 27th of December soon, which means three months.
In that time, I have been back and forth to my place gathering “essentials”–in other words things and stuff that made me feel less like a visitor here. First I gathered the valuables we wouldn’t want anyone to steal, then gradually I got my favorite kitchen accessories, more clothes than I needed, miscellaneous “gotta have that’ items. Added to the food I bought while here–there was a Publix five minutes away–we’re swamped and I’m feeling really silly. Friends who will help us move will be stunned. It feels like I have more here than there. Can’t be, right?
What I don’t have is my Christmas tree, my antique country Santas, my gathered-over-a-lifetime knick knacks that every year I swear I won’t drag out and every year I do. My five thousand lights. It’s probably the first year of my entire eighty-four years that my abode is bare of any decorations. But then, nothing about this time right now feels normal, so why not this? I did go shopping today. It’s December 20. That’s the latest I’ve ever “started” shopping, and I’m oddly relaxed. When a tree falls on your house forcing you to move out for three months, it’s funny how trivial buying presents can feel.
I’m sure everything will be fine. We’ll get moved, We’ll settle in. The cows next door will comfort me with their familiar lowing. The dark will be the darkest ever, the quiet will calm me, My porch beckons.
Whatever happens, it will be good to be home.
Pat Ponders Life 