I’m sorry to keep dwelling on our empty house; it’s just that I thought I’d have my furniture by now. Instead, it has been delayed again. The transport company believes the ship will arrive in port by September 9, with delivery of the container to our home around September 12.
That’s 4 months from the day we sealed the doors of our container.
That’s 1/3 of a year living with 2 camping chairs, 2 folding tables, and one queen mattress.
I need to tell you something.
It’s not that I’ve been trying to hide anything. But some of you have no idea.
You know that image of me in your head? The one of me standing on a hill, overlooking the waters of the Pacific, perhaps wearing a wool fisherman’s sweater and fabulous boots?
Well, you also need to add in a few people standing there with me. One is obviously my husband, Keith, holding our pet lamb.
Nice touch with the lamb. I’m liking your mental images.
But you should also add in three more people behind us, probably working to refold a map and trying to figure out where they can get cell reception. They’re my family–parents and younger sister–and they have just moved to Auckland, as of last week.
I’d like to start sharing the things which go unseen, most likely while I’m puttering at home alone, wearing something comfy.
The mind just works better, and achieves more, when powered by elastic waistbands.
So, here it is, my self-assesment of last month. You’ll notice I haven’t included grades. That’s because in real life, you don’t get grades.
Thankgoodness.
The first time I rode shotgun in New Zealand, I was terrified.
But you already know this.
I tried to explain to Keith how scary it was on my side. Thisclose to the mailboxes whizzing past. Thisclose to the concrete barrier on the motorway. Thisclose to being paralyzed for life and eating the rest of my meals through a straw.
He said I’d get used to it.
Riding shotgun that is, not eating through a straw.
I kept pleading with him to drive closer to the center of the lane. He assured me he was in the center of the lane; that it just looked off from my side.
So, I got used to it.
Fast-forward three months. The time is now. Keith is talking to me over the phone while driving home from work.
Today, according to a flyer I picked up at a local restaurant, is National Poetry Day in New Zealand.
In honor of such a day, I’d like to share a poem by my favorite poet, Billy Collins.
He’s funny. And in this poem, he’s actually making light of someone else’s poem. This is, poetically speaking, something like tagging this poor poet’s garage door with neon green spray paint. But that’s just Billy. I know, because we’re friends, in kind of a one-way-friendship sort of way. I’m just waiting to get a call from him at 2am to go toilet paper some other unsuspecting poet’s yard.
Here he is, reading Litany. Enjoy:
I’ve completely fallen behind on updates, I know.
Maybe the weather is to blame, seeing as July usually runs up the tally of rainy, cold and overcast days here in the Southern Hemisphere.
Maybe the immigration guide-book was right, and I’m just now feeling the strain of living overseas.
Maybe I’m sick of wearing the same two-suitcase collection of clothing.
Or maybe it’s because sitting all day in my camping chair makes me grouchy, for various reasons.
Oh yeah, and our container of belongings will be delayed an additional week, projecting the arrival date to end of August. But no big, right? Means I can host an extra week of kung fu class on my wide open wood floors.
Perhaps it was a culmination of the above factors which drove me to neglect my updates. And maybe, it’s also the reason I ordered my groceries online this week.
If you came to visit me today, you’d find our place very empty and echo-y.
But I’d offer you a seat in one of our two collapsible camping chairs, and serve you tea in a plastic cup.
And you’d smile, and then politely slide your cup in the drink-holder sewn into the arm of the chair.
There we would sit, admiring the large expanse of un-furnished void and contemplating the immeasurability of the universe.
When I was younger, I remember puzzling over the absence of an elevator button for the 13th floor in my grandma’s condo building.
It was just gone.
There was 12, and there was 14. But no 13.
It was a floor without a name, existing in absolute anonymity. Ignored for the sake of resale value.
Come to think of it, I don’t even think you can say “13th floor” on an elevator without being taken down by the other passengers.
It’s a no-no.
Kind of like celebrating the 4th of July in New Zealand.
For the last four days, Keith has been out of town at a work-related conference.
You know, playing golf and laughing about secret handshakes and all.
Which of course means I’ve been home alone.
Burglar bait.
Even after Keith handed me a shiny new iPad a few weeks ago, I wasn’t sure I needed one.
Eh. What you have to go through when your spouse is addicted to Apple. Am I right?
But as any good wife would, I accepted the gift. I download a few books. I flashed it a few times in public.
And yet, I wasn’t convinced it was adding to my everyday life.
Until tonight.
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