Do you remember those little plastic puzzles, the ones with moveable tiles, numbered one through fifteen, in a sixteen-space grid? The point was to slide the tiles around each other, until you had them in proper numerical sequence, like a two-dimensional precursor to Rubik's cubes. Planning this move west is like one of those puzzles, but more of a scale of thirty-five tiles in a six by six grid. Solvable, sure, but also time consuming and complex. It is taking all of my brain power to think ahead four or five steps, throughout the matrix of possibilities, to imagine all the pitfalls of each course of action. Since we devised a plan yesterday afternoon, we have made significant changes four or five times over, plus a dozen little adjustments. The more it changes, the less I feel like I ought to put it in writing. So many moving parts, so many things to go wrong. Why did this have to be so difficult?
I'd love to wax poetic about Mother's day, or even write something witty on what would have been my grandfathers' hundred-ish birthdays (yes, both of them). But I'm so focused on cracking this puzzle of the move, I can't make sense of anything else. Soon the flawed plans will be discarded, and we will have a working model. Until then, I'm going to play it fast and loose, and pretend I have a handle on things. And I'm going to try to find time to soak up the last weeks in my Park. May is its best month, and I owe it to myself to notice.
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