Wanderlust

Inspirational song: Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) (The Decemberists)

For the last seven months, when I felt like nothing of import was ongoing, and I had no current topic about which to write, I have delved into the past for material. Very rarely have I speculated about the future, and so far never have I turned to fiction. I have wondered lately whether writing little installments of fiction would prove interesting or manageable. That might be something I will attempt during the slow, dark days of winter. 

I am relieved to find that December has arrived. Paying attention to every single day, as I have been, has made time pass exceptionally slowly. Most of the time, I don't mind so much. It's better than the days or months vanishing without my notice. Enough of my time alone has passed that now I can finally start looking forward, past the separation, and I can start thinking about what we may be doing after this is all over. We have been living as nomads for so long, I'm starting to feel the rambling itch. I love the place where we are, and I will forever be grateful that I had the chance to live and play here. As much as I love my house and the Park, and as much as I imagined that this might be the forever house (as I thought about the house in New Mexico before this), I can't help thinking about how I want the next house to look. I catch myself aimlessly browsing on Zillow. I think about how the next house will have more closet space, or a bigger laundry room, or a much more open layout. Sometimes I take off the upper price limits on my searches, and look at the pictures of the big houses with fancy kitchens or restored beauties in historic neighborhoods. At this point, those places are just dreams. But a project house that I can turn into my own restored beauty sounds like a whole lot of fun (and a whole lot of blog posts).

I will never know for certain what the future holds, but I have the feeling the man is feeling the same urge to be in motion as I am. He told me that he really wants to take a long road trip when he gets back. He warned me that a six-to-twelve month road trip may be in our future. For once, the idea of loading up our quadruped children and traveling like gypsies in a caravan sounds like a good time to me. I'm starting to wonder whether we will have a forever house anywhere. And what's more, I'm starting to wonder whether that actually bothers me.