Saturday, October 30, 2010
We are home. I am literally dizzy with the shock of it. Am I here? Yes. Is part of me still in Roseland? Yes. And I read the rest of The Yearling out loud to Glen on the way home so part of me is on Baxter's Island, too.
But I am physically here in Lloyd, Florida and while there are no hibiscus, it's gaudy cousin, the Confederate Rose, is blooming with great abandon. There are no cranes or egrets or herons or osprey but the chickens are here and they rushed up to meet us when we got in.
I will see Owen tomorrow. My little man. I can only imagine how much he's grown in a week.
My heart feels funny. It feels as if I am on the dock for Roseland sunset and yet, I'm not. I'm here, partially unpacked and with laundry going and there are beans in the garden, really! beans in October! and the clothes I'm wearing were washed down in Roseland in the detergent there so I smell like Roseland and yet, again, here I am.
This morning, when I was drinking my coffee beside the pool I felt sad but also, so damn lucky to be able to go back to that place which will always, somehow, be home to me. And now, at this moment, I know for a fact how very fucking lucky I am to come home to THIS home where the old oaks shelter me and offer me a bit of what that beautiful river gives me- the sense that I am not so very significant in the grand scheme of things which is a relief. That it is the perfect moments whether here or there or perhaps even on a small island in the Mexican Caribbean which add up to a sense of a life which has been well-lived.
And of course, the man who lives here with me, who accompanies on these adventures, and the family of my children and their loves and my grandchild and my friends who make my life what it is.
And you. Thank-all of you who came with me on vacation.
If you ever want to really and literally go there, you can, you know.
Here's the link for the place we stayed, as well as a few other homes that the guys who rented to us own. They are all charming and would all make for a most pleasant trip to Florida.
This morning as we were packing up, I was talking to Glenn, one of the owners, who was out working in his yard and I thanked him for preserving that place which restores my soul. I started crying and he hugged me. These are such good men, the men who are living in Roseland, who love it the way they do.
All right. Blah, blah, blah. I'm being all emotional again. This is the way it is. This is who I am.
Home again. I live in Florida and I love to go on vacation in Florida. I feel very grateful to live here.
It's getting dark and the chickens need to be shut into their house and I need to tidy up around here, finish unpacking, make myself at home again.
What a week.
What a life.
Thank-you for sharing.