I woke up early this morning, 5am to be exact. I haven’t done that in quite a while. My stomach is growling, but not yet a desperate roar to fill it with cereal or soft-boiled eggs.
Wrapping my bathrobe around me to guard against the chill of the morning, I let the dogs out the front door to take care of their business. When back in the house, they returned to the big bed, warm and comfy from the night’s sleep. Even they weren’t ready to get up yet. Feeding time for them wasn’t until 7:30 and they were content to wait until the sun was shining through the bedroom windows, the signal to get me up and out of bed, and start nosing around for breakfast. Within two minutes of laying their heads back down on my still warm bed pillows they were snoring like old men who had left their teeth on the dresser.
As I listen to the coffee maker spitting out the last of my morning elixir into the pot, I’m amazed at how wide awake and alert I am. Could this be yet another example of what menopause had wrought? Or was something else happening? I decided I probably should eat something, as it was going to be a busy couple of hours before I head off to work. Next week is my last week there, and I laugh to myself as I have developed yet another skill to add to my repertoire of jobs I never thought I’d have. It has been fun there, a nice diversion after the loss of my mother and a jolt to my marriage. I feel guilty that I am leaving right before the Christmas rush, but at least I will be there for Black Friday.
The house is quiet, but the lake is softly rolling, waves hitting the shore louder than usual. There are no whitecaps, but it is definitely awake. It sets the tone for how the day will be, I think. There’s a lot to do in a short period of time and most of it can’t be done until the last minute. I’m still trying to decide what I need to take with me to the new house and what I can leave here. I know that I will be returning; the question is when?
I’ve decided to ship the majority of my clothes to our new residence, as the RV will not hold much more besides the three dogs and us. The vehicle is our own covered wagon heading west; it and the house and our last big purchases for a while. I can only fit in it what I really need.
I guess that’s what has me up so early this calm morning. The age old question that has probably tweaked the hardiest of travelers.
What is it that I really need to take with me?
Most of the intangibles are easy; what I carry around with me in my heart will most certainly be easy to make the journey. Memories of my children, my grandchildren, and my friends, both old and new, are ready to set up shop in yet another kitchen. That’s the easy part. They will always be with me, no matter where I end up, sitting beside me as I drink another cup of coffee.
The physical and the obvious are more difficult to put my arms around. I will have just the memory of the lake to soothe me as I sit to write, to continue the stories that were born here and nurtured, but not really ready to show the world. I will have to make due with the sunrises and sunsets I have captured in photographs, encompassing all seasons in a single moment. Yes, I know there are sunrises where I am going and the most amazing sunsets, or so he claims.
“Wait until you see how big the sky is here” he chides me, reminding me of how overwhelmed I felt at the first viewing of the northern lights over the lake one summer, what now seems like a life time ago. It felt like the sky was pressing down on me, and for just a moment I was afraid. Sensing my discomfort, he started to name the astrological formations of the stars and tried to distract me, chit chatting about Orion and the Big Dipper.
Suddenly taking my hand he whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” From anyone else it would have sounded condescending; but I knew he meant it.
The sun is starting to peek over the horizon, the start of “the liminal,” reminding me of what an old friend once coined the time between night and sunrise. I suspect there will be many more liminals for me to witness, even though I will not remember them like I will this one.
The day will be here soon, the dogs will be underfoot looking for their morning meal for the ritual of the day to begin. But for just a few more moments, I will sit and watch the sunrise as it moves from one phase to another, reminding me that another day has passed and a new one is beginning. I will travel with the Liminals, and they will be with me.
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