This Scion IQ can't carry much. So no retail therapy for us. Recently, my one and only has been singing the relocation blues. If it weren’t for the Warriors winning 73 games, passing the record set by the Chicago Bulls, and playing well despite Steph’s injuries, my one and only would have one less diversion to count on. She’s backing a winning team, so why this sadness? It’s not where we’re located. My one and only loves Los Osos /Baywood Park; she loves being in nature and taking me for walks. We travel the red marked habit trail from east to west and back. We see mountains, the ocean at the estuary. We hear birds and commune with trees, each in our way. She even likes the sound and feel of wind. We are getting used to the down side of rural living – that no stores are within walking distance. Buses are limited and, of course, no BART. But we don’t have traffic congestion like we had in the Bay area. And we don’t have the noise. It’s been no comfort for my one and only to be reminded that moving rattles everyone who does it. Our last year and a half has included many moves, but this one is definitely the most radical. And not just because we aren’t city dwellers any longer.
My one and only takes comfort in having made good on her wish to create meditation groups so she could sit with others. That happens three evenings a week. One evening, she sits in the six o’clock semidarkness of the UU Fellowship’s sanctuary in SLO. We pronounce it “slow” instead of saying San Luis Obispo every time. And we say UU so we don’t have to say Unitarian Universalist.
What could increase her sense of wellbeing? I suppose she might try shopping. That works for a lot of people and it makes sense; after all, we moved from a studio to a three-bedroom house. Our blue mailbox across the street fills up with coupons from local stores welcoming us to Central Coast and promising deep discounts. But so far my one and only has stopped by at the fitness center to redeem her coupon for one free smoothie. A drawback to hitting Costco, Home Depot or Target to redeem other coupons is her small car. We just can’t race out, coupons in hand and fill up the back seat with furniture and gadgets. The back seat is so cramped it can’t comfortably carry two regular people who don’t fold up. We have accommodated meditation practitioners in lotus position. Without passengers, we mostly keep the seatbacks flat to comfortably carry two bags of groceries. When we did go to Couch Potato to buy a dining room table and four chairs, we had to rely on my one and only’s son and his promise to pick up the furniture once it made it from the warehouse to Morro Bay. This youngest son lives not far, owns a truck and a minivan, but his fetches and carries are limited by his full life.
From my point of view, we need to readjust our expectations. Maybe get rid of them. My one and only moved here in part because she wanted to be near her son and granddaughter in case the eight-year-old needed an ally as she adjusted to the possibility that her father might remarry. She told herself she was that person. She could move into the neighborhood and make herself available and important. Didn’t happen that way. Even before the movers arrived at the start of March, relationships in Los Osos had been working out, so by the time she arrived, frazzled but intent, adjustment had taken place; the woman her son will marry had moved into the house with her son and granddaughter, and everyone seemed satisfied. They were repainting, redecorating and readjusting.
Foolishly, my one and only took it hard and personally when her son asked her to return the duplicate key he had long ago made for her. As a result, I see her sitting with her eyes closed many times a day these last several weeks. Not just the three nights, she set up for meditation practice with others. I trust that in all those sits she practices sympathetic joy for her son’s happiness, more of the same for her granddaughter’s growing love for the woman who will marry her daddy as well as some SJ for the woman who will soon be part of our family. Hopefully, before the wedding, my one and only will stop it with those relocation and readjustment blues, which I have been told sound a lot like all the blues she’s ever sung. “Waaaaaaah: What about me?” Meanwhile the wind blows, the fog rolls in and birds sing.
My one and only takes comfort in having made good on her wish to create meditation groups so she could sit with others. That happens three evenings a week. One evening, she sits in the six o’clock semidarkness of the UU Fellowship’s sanctuary in SLO. We pronounce it “slow” instead of saying San Luis Obispo every time. And we say UU so we don’t have to say Unitarian Universalist.
What could increase her sense of wellbeing? I suppose she might try shopping. That works for a lot of people and it makes sense; after all, we moved from a studio to a three-bedroom house. Our blue mailbox across the street fills up with coupons from local stores welcoming us to Central Coast and promising deep discounts. But so far my one and only has stopped by at the fitness center to redeem her coupon for one free smoothie. A drawback to hitting Costco, Home Depot or Target to redeem other coupons is her small car. We just can’t race out, coupons in hand and fill up the back seat with furniture and gadgets. The back seat is so cramped it can’t comfortably carry two regular people who don’t fold up. We have accommodated meditation practitioners in lotus position. Without passengers, we mostly keep the seatbacks flat to comfortably carry two bags of groceries. When we did go to Couch Potato to buy a dining room table and four chairs, we had to rely on my one and only’s son and his promise to pick up the furniture once it made it from the warehouse to Morro Bay. This youngest son lives not far, owns a truck and a minivan, but his fetches and carries are limited by his full life.
From my point of view, we need to readjust our expectations. Maybe get rid of them. My one and only moved here in part because she wanted to be near her son and granddaughter in case the eight-year-old needed an ally as she adjusted to the possibility that her father might remarry. She told herself she was that person. She could move into the neighborhood and make herself available and important. Didn’t happen that way. Even before the movers arrived at the start of March, relationships in Los Osos had been working out, so by the time she arrived, frazzled but intent, adjustment had taken place; the woman her son will marry had moved into the house with her son and granddaughter, and everyone seemed satisfied. They were repainting, redecorating and readjusting.
Foolishly, my one and only took it hard and personally when her son asked her to return the duplicate key he had long ago made for her. As a result, I see her sitting with her eyes closed many times a day these last several weeks. Not just the three nights, she set up for meditation practice with others. I trust that in all those sits she practices sympathetic joy for her son’s happiness, more of the same for her granddaughter’s growing love for the woman who will marry her daddy as well as some SJ for the woman who will soon be part of our family. Hopefully, before the wedding, my one and only will stop it with those relocation and readjustment blues, which I have been told sound a lot like all the blues she’s ever sung. “Waaaaaaah: What about me?” Meanwhile the wind blows, the fog rolls in and birds sing.
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