House-sitting is quickly becoming quite an interesting venture.

   There are many things missing that we are used to having…and a few new things to enjoy.

   We have traded the bustle of the suburbs for the peace and quiet of what is, for now, the countryside. They are building a new community down the road, but it will be quite some time before it flourishes. For now, there are no gas stations close by….no grocery stores…no traffic. Most of the yards are only partially fenced. The people behind us have cows in their yard and, while we’ve only heard and not seen them, we know that the folks across the way have turkeys.

   That nasty smoking habit has eased a bit as feeding the beast now requires a trip outside so as not to stink up the house. Mijo and I go outdoors together…he does his business, I do mine. The two-pack a day habit has dwindled to less than half of a pack. I refuse to get excited because trying to quit has never worked before, but its tough not to hope.

   At any rate, a trip outdoors allows me to savor another thing that we seldom saw in the suburbs….stars. The night sky here is a true pleasure. The rich, black velvet…peppered with millions of tiny stars that seem to twinkle contentedly in the crisp air makes for a peaceful and enjoyable, if brief, trip outdoors. It brings back memories of sitting around a campsite when the only thing keeping the chilly night at bay was a roaring campfire and good friends.

   Mike and Jamie will be leaving tomorrow and it will seem strange without them. After all these years–and in spite of our tumultous childhood–the company of my brother is still one of my favourite things…and he did marry this really great woman and give me another fabulous sister. Some things haven’t changed over the years. He still knows how to relax and have fun…I’m still trying to clean the world one room at a time…but it balances out well.

    Still, I bit my lip just a bit as they loaded the car today. Its hard to watch them go even though it is what they want to do. Anybody who has family in the military understands the feeling…you want to hold them close and safe…but you let them go with a smile because its your part of the deal. In years past, there was no internet, no email, and no real communication with those who went to war except for the exchange of written letters…at least we have those things today.

   So, we are here for a year.

   Yes, this will be quite interesting, indeed.

arkmomy

   It is freezing cold and raining outside….and not much different inside.

   Wake up, brush teeth, grab towel….punch the button on the coffeemaker as I head for the shower. I know what has to be done, but folks like me can’t function without the morning shower.

   Hopefully, we have enough boxes.

   Part of me is torn by the desire to leave this place and the failure that it implies. Because I consider this to be my problem, I will not ask for help as I drag the boxes out of the back room and begin packing. At some point, the anger of feeling out of control has given way to a quiet despondence as I pack and label boxes before hauling them to a central location for quick loading when the truck arrives this week.

    Every good reason that we have for leaving is outweighed by the momentary sense of the fact that things are no longer in their places. The neat-freak in me battles with the logical one who knows that while things are in necessary disarray right now, they will one day be right again.

   Still, I cannot escape the feeling that I have failed.

   This is no time for tears. Those will come later.

   It is a lot like taking apart our life bit by bit. In the act of packing boxes, things long since forgotten have been found again. Some of my little idiosyncrasies are brought to light as I am reminded again of my tendency to keep two of everything on hand….it really makes no sense. Two cans of hairspray (even though I no longer use it), two bottles of lotion, two tubes of toothpaste, two bottles of laundry detergent…the list goes on and on. The kids used to tease me for being so weird about keeping supplies on-hand…they might have actually been right.

   Somewhere between packing dishes and pans in the kitchen, I look down at my hands. The slight bluish-grey tinge of the skin tells me what I’d been too busy to notice….the house is cold. In my single-minded drive to pack as much as possible, I’ve neglected to turn on the heat once again. Passing through the living room as I head for the thermostat, I see the results of the day’s work. Boxes are piled nearly as high as I am tall…and suddenly, I am tired.

   A quick glance at the clock confirms what I should have already realized. The day has passed quickly. With quiet effieiency, I have managed to pack up both bathrooms, the kitchen, living room, dining room, den, and two bedrooms. The knowledge that so much is completed should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Half of me wants to continue…to pack up the rest, load it onto a truck for storage, and leave. Perhaps, if I were able to do that today, the feeling off failure would ease. Since none of that is possible, I light a candle and allow the soft light and gentle scent to work its magic on my battered soul.

   Someday, things will be better.

   Someday, we will have a new place to call home.

   But today, it is raining….both outside…and inside.

arkmomy

    Scent is a powerful thing.

    It can make you cringe in disgust or smile with pleasure. It can transport you to other places…even to the past. Sometimes, just the thought of a scent is enough to bring you comfort because it reminds you of times that seemed long forgotten.

    A talk with my sister brought back such memories tonite.

    Our Mom loved to sew.

    She used an old machine…one of the metal ones. Sewing machines have evolved over the years are are mostly plastic now, but if you look hard enough, you can still find one of the ‘magical’ steel machines. Okay, so the new machines might do all sorts of neat things…but they don’t feel as solid under the hand, they don’t sound the same…and they don’t smell the same.

    Those old machines needed oil…lots of oil. Weird as it sounds, the smell of that oil burning in the machine has stayed with me all of these years…it smelled like home.

    As Mom sewed, she sang.

    Mom had a penchant for old songs. The sound of her beautiful voice accompanied by the whir and grind of that old machine is an easy memory to recall. The memory of the sound of her shears scraping softly but firmly on the table as she cut the fabric and the smell of oil takes me back to the days when the biggest decision that a little girl had to make was how to coordinate the outfits on her Barbie.

    Mom sewed because she enjoyed it…and because it was the cheapest way to keep four kids dressed. She made our dresses, pants for my brother, shirts, and doll clothes for our baby dolls. But the most important thing that she did was sew memories for us kids. No matter how old I get, I will always remember the smell of that old machine and all of the wonderful memories that go with it.

    Sometimes, when things get stressed, I find myself singing the same songs that my Mom used to sing. I used to sew quite a bit until my machine broke. It is something that I want to do again. I’ve promised myself that I will get another machine when finances permit….and then I will sew again.

    Who knows? I might get lucky and find an old metal oil-burner like Mom had. 

    Until then, I can close my eyes and remember….and it still smells like home.    

arkmomy