I’ve been quite quiet for close to a month. That’s because I’ve been contemplating my “big trip.” This has demanded a lot of my attention (that and helping a friend write a book and subbing and marketing my own books and staying healthy, and simply attending to the daily chores of cooking, exercising, building fires, keeping them going, and reading email. Oh . . . and there were “the holidays.”)
I’m leaving the island for a couple of months+, headed to the San Francisco Bay Area. This isn’t a “vacation.” It’s a temporary relocation to a stimulating urban environment where I will continue to work. It’s a darned scary choice . . . and it’s perfect for me right now.
Much of my time this past month has been spent with friends, reassuring myself and them that I am grateful for them in my life and that this place is my home . . . my anchoring place. If the world goes to Hell in a hand-basket I can come here and work the land with friends and be fed and loved.
I’m 62-years-old. I’ll drive my 23-year-old Toyota Celica. It’s a not-so-big car. I will pack it with everything I think I need to conduct business and life for the next several months and drive 850 miles by the most direct route (which I will probably not take, hence, I will travel at least 150 miles further, not counting side-trips) to a place I know only a little, but to which I’ve been attracted since my first visit in 1978.
I’ve been gathering tools to make the trip work. My mini hard drive arrived yesterday. It holds 500 Gigs of information and powers itself off of a USB connection to my laptop. Get outta here! Half a terabyte???? and it’s no bigger than a minute. I could stuff it in my bra and clear airport security. I need it for video processing on the road because those are gigantic files. It’s magic!
I’m not going into a lonely urbanscape. I have connections there. Beloved Son is in Oakland . . . and lives an active and engaged life. I have 500 Sweater 101 books in his warehouse which is one reason I can make this change of venue and still conduct business. We are not just mother and son, but good friends, so we will spend good time together perhaps once a week or so, but I do not look to him to create my social life.
When I arrive I’ll land about 2 miles away from Beloved Son . . . in Alameda, at my first husband’s cousin’s, whom I’ve known since college. His mother taught me how to make Hungarian Crescent Cakes and Yugoslavian-style Chicken Paprikash (which is different from my Grandma’s Hungarian Chicken and Dumplings, but not by much). I was 17-years-old when Great Aunt Shirley took me into her kitchen. Not only have I known him for practically forever but I really like his partner who is a fabulous cook. He and she are blue water sailors . . . modest home . . . extravagant adventures . . . intelligent companions . . . Our conversations are always lively and probing and the food is always good.
I’ve been looking at sublets in the area on Craig’s List. There are some great-looking places but I haven’t committed to one yet.
So what’s the big deal you ask? When was the last time you left home for 2½ months?
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Hey, I’m in San Rafael/Sausalito, and am involved with a local yarn store. Look me up when you get into town – I love your book, and have made a sweater with it!
Renee . . . thank you so much! I will definitely contact you when I “get to town.”
2.5 mos – is this a yearly pilgrimage? Well I envy you (I KNOW I’m not supposed to) but I can’t leave for very long b’c of my Mom … 84 and needs constant care – but I DID make it on the Yarn Train and have paid in her unhappiness for the last week b’c of it ..
So go on and have a WONNERFUL time – I lived in the BA for about 7 years … nice climate down there.
God bless you!
Thank you Bevy.
I’m happy that you enjoyed the Yarn Train. I didn’t sign up because I wasn’t sure I’d still be here.
This is not a yearly pilgrimage . . . yet. I’m actually looking to move to an urban area during the school year and be at my “camp on the island” in summer. The East Bay area is my current best choice for the urban part of the experience of life.
Taking care of elderly parents has been a defining (and confining) experience for so many of my friends. It’s huge. My dad died when I was 11 (1959). My mom died when I was 35 (1984) so I cannot begin to understand this beautiful and difficult journey you are on.
What I do understand is that I wish my dad had been at all 3 of my graduations because this was his dream. And I wish he could have given me away at my first wedding. But most of all, I wish he could have met my son. He died 23 years before my son was born.
Life is rich.
God bless you Bevy!