In the fade

Gemstone colored leaves swirl and sweep below my feet on concrete streets. Woodsmoke wafts from chimneys of tidy brick brownstones. Fuzzy sweaters, slippers and socks are happily worn. The autumn sunlight runs more golden than summer's citron, making longer shadows and shorter days. The exuberance of living away from home has faded a bit with the waning light, though the crisp beauty of fall wraps its arms around me with the above mentioned delights. Dave, Elsa and I continue to turtle our way through our fourth Airbnb, carrying all of our belongings to and fro "carrying" our home as we go. Oh, to be a turtle and chew on grass, find puddles, walk through forests and zigzag safely over streets with your home on your back. To live without computers, journals, toiletries, clothes and shoes for two seasons, art supplies, groceries and books as you go from place to place. It's hard to imagine. But there is great gratitude in this choice to relocate for a season, to live with our home on our "back" (or in our Volvo), and there is also fatigue in the nomadic existence. The dislocation from one's home-base, where your stuff and routine are all in place, can be frazzling, the effort taxing. To be at the mercy of unprofessional landlords can also be quite flabbergasting.

I must remember the roots of the mission have been watered . To see Harry each Saturday running on his special teams at football games. His tucked jersey, his 3-0 loud and proud in white and blue, his and his teammates' joyful fury as they run and tackle on the field claiming victories. Meeting parents from far and wide, cheering in the stands, rain or shine. To drop off bags of groceries at his dorm, make his bed, do his laundry, write a note and leave it on his desk. A temporary fly on his wall, even if in the other room, it's been fulfilling to be in the mix and in the stands, to provide invisible nurturing.

Dave and I went to visit Hugh for our anniversary. Out to LaLa land we flew to see Hugh's new roots, his new neighborhood and local college friends. Spending time with our oldest in the dry sunshine, by the pool and exploring Ojai recharged my battery more than I thought it would. Getting him plants and groceries made my heart feel good, though seeing him in his element about to film his first short movie made my heart feel even better.

Elsa's been on this journey, too, a main character in the play of our caravanning, living on the sidelines with us. She's been there all these weeks for hugs in the morning and walks in the evening, a witness and a player in our adventure. An unexpected win to this season's intention, Elsa has pretty much claimed an only child status and I'm marveled by her grace within our uprootedness. To be the middle child and get her parents "to herself" as a young woman figuring things out. My cup runneth over in many ways and she is the witness to my, at times, frenzied bandwidth. She's the one who will tidy up the kitchen without our asking or who will take our newest addition, Phoebe, out for a pre-bedtime pee. She's the one who will go to the store and fill our fridge so things don't feel so bare. She's the one who shares TV shows we'd otherwise not find, and the one who tolerates my shows, taking them in stride.

There are oodles of emotions I find myself in. The jovial delight and tested patience, the comfort of visiting with family and friends, the achey nostalgia of this fading season when things get bundle up. I continue to edit my story, literally and internally, revising and reworking the darkness of earlier days. I'm taking queues from Venus' retrograde journey in Scorpio seriously, sometimes stumped and sometimes awed by how a history can be expressed. But here I am, with my noise cancelling Airbuds in my ears, Dave watching a show on the couch, Elsa making her breakfast and Phoebe sitting at my feet in our 1000 square foot apartment, taking things in stride, thankful for the intention to be here, thankful we will be going home soon.

With love from Connecticut,

St. Sunshine