It is almost done, this cross-country move from Portland to Portland. At about noon today, two real estate agents, a title company official, the buyers and I will meet to sign a lot of legal documents that will transfer ownership of what was my home for the past four years.
But it hasn't felt like mine for awhile now. I was withdrawing my attachment to it during the weeks I filled up boxes with my belongings. By the time the movers hauled out everything last Wednesday, my heart and mind were already elsewhere – but not quite anywhere.
Hotel rooms, transient by nature and often interchangeable, don't count as being some place and during these past five days, I have often felt disconnected – out of time, unsure of the day or date and forgetful of long-time routines such as vitamins in the morning. I'm feeling a bit light-headed, not quite in and of the world.
An unfamiliar sensation - but not unpleasant either. A downtime, perhaps, while disconnecting from one life and preparing to engage with a new one.
Ollie the cat, however, now seems to think of this small room as home. He likes to watch the birds when I open the window for him, and he has assigned himself the role of sentinel; when anyone walks by our door in the hall, he instantly leaps to full alert, growling at the door until they are well past it.
It took him only two days to go from fraidy-cat-under-the-bed to protector of our tiny realm. I'm glad he doesn't know that tomorrow I will drug him and stuff him in a small container for a 12-hour journey after which he will wake up in another new room – also temporary – until the moving van arrives and we can set up our new home.
At The Elder Storytelling Place today, Nancy Leitz: Too Many Cowboys