I’m at that stage in moving (from Virginia to Minnesota) where almost anything can be “the last.” The last time I go to the grocery store with the good bakery. The last time I eat at the Oceanside. The last time we go to this playground. The last time I see someone.
I hate this part. I love the new when moving, the adventure of getting there and exploring a new part of the country, but before getting to that point, I must suffer through “the last.”
We never know when “the last” might be. The last time I had a Dairy Queen at the beach was in 2012. I would have enjoyed it more, savored not just the ice-cream, but the way the wind whipped my hair around, threatening my cone. I try not to think too much about “the last.” It tends to bring on the waterworks, especially when it comes to the people who have become so special to me through the years. I refuse to say goodbye or think of it being the last time I’ll see someone.
Instead I say “Auf Wiedersehen” – until I see you again. I hold in my heart that there will be an again and when the again happens, it will be all the sweeter for not being “the last.”
I wrote last fall about my epic garden fail and promised myself and the world I would not plant tomatoes in 2013. We are nearly a month past the last frost date in Virginia and I can claim victory. I have not planted a single tomato. Nor have I planted cucumbers, broccoli or peppers. We have one volunteer tomato plant and I did plant some parsley – it was a gift from the kids – but otherwise I’ve remained edible free in my planting efforts this year.
I commend myself on this achievement. I would not have been able to reach this milestone without the assistance of my husband. He is being transferred to Minneapolis, Minnesota. We may not be here long enough to enjoy a harvest and I need to keep most of my containers empty so they will be easier to move. I have a good excuse to forgo the annual bursting of a dream I call backyard gardening.
Here’s the thing. I’m already thinking how a shortened growing season will work. Perhaps I will be able to grow cilantro once again. Perhaps the squirrels will not dig up and destroy everything I plant. Perhaps my tomatoes and peppers will not take a hiatus because of the high heat. Perhaps I’ll try broccoli. Maybe I’ll get a green house. The possibilities are endless. There is always a chance the garden will work. I’m already dreaming of next year.
When it comes to blogging, I’m an amateur. But we’ve all got to start somewhere. I liken the process to unpacking a house after a move, a task with which I’m well versed. The boxes are there, waiting to be opened, but you have to battle through exhaustion and accept it as a process. Nearly five years in the same house, and I’m still unpacking.
I anticipate updates at random intervals, whenever the urge to write strikes. I’ve got a few topics cooking, but so far, they are only half-baked. Look for upcoming musings on memoirs, potty training and failure. That’s all for now, but at least, it’s a start.