Travels

I almost don't remember all the moving and traveling and driving I've done the last several weeks. Memory is so odd. Sometimes I feel like it is a haphazard collection of moments, though I am lucky to have a good memory when I need it. If I'm just existing in life though--when I think about what I've done recently, I remember moments.

Walking slowly into Lake Michigan on a wavy, windy day, feeling the denim of my loose-fitting jeans swirling away from my legs, I remember the joy. Waist-deep and watching the waves coming in, I felt my breath taken away in sudden bursts as a wave reached me--hitting my chest and occasionally splashing my face.

Right as my friend and I reached the point of exhaustion--carrying boxes, bags, furniture a block and up an extra-tall flight of stairs to her new apartment in humid 80-something weather--the two parking spots directly in front of her door were simultaneously free and I experienced such a rush that my body forgot all about the previous hour. I ran to get the truck while she stood in the parking spots so no one could take them. I ran up and down the stairs with the next several loads of boxes etc. I puzzled at the energy and insane enthusiasm, but I didn't look the gift horse in the mouth.

I rarely dream, but the day after carrying basically all of my friend's worldly possessions up stairs and into her new apartment (including the brilliant decision I made to carry the wicker loveseat up by myself...) I was so exhausted (with good reason since I'd only gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before we arrived at the new place and had been on the road camping out for several days before that) that I basically slept the majority of the day away. And I remember my friends face when I woke up and looked at her asking if I'd told her about my dream yet. And the change over her face when I told her that I knew it was a dream because she was really excited about the alcoholic bread I was baking just for her (she never drinks).

I remember laughing hysterically as I drove down the road, finally on my way home and high on the caffeine in my green tea.

I can still feel the movement of my skin as it is being pushed around by probably close to 70 or 80 mph winds as I stood at the front of a high-speed ferry going directly into the wind.

For the first time in several months, I was able to easily fly through a book--a memoir all about traveling :) Tales of a Female Nomad. It was amazingly awesome. Even though Rita was getting divorced and letting go of her college-aged children the year I was born, I felt connected to her experiences--the lessons she learned about the world and herself .

I was surprised for the first time in a long time by the end of a novel: Hesse's The Journey to the East. Even as I closed the back cover, I felt excited about rereading it. I will, soon.

My first morning home I spent almost an hour weeding in the garden in the rain--the water rolling over me, the plants in my hands, and the mud everywhere.