It’s amazing to me that over the last two years we have decided to become minimalists, to divest ourselves of almost all of our possessions, that we have moved into an RV in our driveway and lived there happily for the last six months, that we have been able to stay on track and on schedule, that I have been able to extricate myself gracefully from all of my jobs and my business as well as all of our volunteer responsibilities, that we have been to facilitate these transitions with little to no muss and fuss, and through it all I have been stress-free, just taking it all in stride and dealing with each thing as it came along. I was unflappable! Until this week. This week I was stressed, and I blame it all on the macerator pump.
The house is done. All the repairs, the painting and the cleaning are finished. There is a for-sale sign in the yard and we have already had a showing. The only thing we had to do this week was pack up, unplug from the house and drive away. But I had become complacent. It was really too easy, this living in our own driveway, using all the hot water we wanted in the house showers, unlimited access to the washer and dryer. For the first month, the hardest thing we had to do was pack it all up and drive to town to empty the tanks. But at least we had to do that. Then we got a macerator pump.
A macerator pump is a small device that chews up everything in the black tanks so that it can be pumped through a garden hose, thus eliminating the need for gravity feed and miles and miles of regular sewer hose. Once we acquired a macerator pump we could reach our septic clean out, which was slightly uphill from the RV, with a regular garden hose, and our lives were made simpler and cleaner. We no longer had to go to town every ten days to empty tanks. The RV grew roots in the driveway. Home sweet home.
I don’t know why this move made me nervous. Was it because it was the first in 5 months? Was it because we were finally leaving the house, our happy home for the last 14 years, for the last time? Was it because we are parking in Shannon’s parent’s driveway until May and that situation may or may not be fraught with unforeseen complications? (Shannon says: “Fifty-four years old and I’m moving back in with my parents!”) I know that once I started packing up and getting ready to travel, everything went smoothly, my fears subsided, the RV didn’t tip over going around corners and everything stayed stowed where I put it. We are now safely docked in our new home. The dog is snoring and farting under the table where I am writing, and the cat and I are getting used to the new views out our windows.
So, the thing about ruts is that no matter how deep they are, whether they are made by a house, by possessions, by a job, by relationships, by years of habits or by a six-month stay in your own driveway, it is easy to get stuck in them. Being bound by tradition is not a bad thing. I am finding that as I shed old traditions and habits, new ones are forming, so apparently, the absence of them creates a vacuum. Perhaps the upside of all of this is simply an awareness of where we are held up and what keeps us from moving forward with our lives.
Off-Topic (sort of)
We have been waiting for a delivery from Amazon, the last delivery to the old house which should have gotten there last Saturday, in plenty of time before the move. But we and the UPS man have been like ships passing in the night. Today Shannon’s mom asked us to pick up a package left at the post office, and lo and behold it was our lost package from Amazon. So, mail forwarding is working, and we now have two new toys,
first one to make the dog useful on outings as she can now carry her own supplies,
and second one to completely disgust had humiliate the cat, who may or may not be hiking and biking with us in the future.
Maybe. . .after all, it is just a big bag!