When the weather is so gorgeous like this, my brain definitely goes to crap. Seventy degrees, sunny, fall-smelling. And now there is a temp to do the post office and bank runs, so I am scrambling to come up with a reason to venture into the sunshine. That, and I was not a huge fan of what I ate for lunch and would not mind driving around in search of treats to compensate for my ho-hum rice thing.* I probably won’t though, because I have managed to spend only $2 of my weekly allowance that I received a week ago tomorrow. I know, I can’t believe it either. Even more shocking is the fact that Mister I-can-rock-an-allowance-because-I-don’t-spend-any-money is now Mister empry-frempty pockets. It isn’t a contest, but it is. I mean, it is if that’s what keeps me from buying $2 vats of diet coke at the Sonic down the street, then IT’S ON.
I have had the sudden and strong urge to move my little family back to the town where A. and I went to college. It just flew in the window and grabbed me by the chin one morning and looked into my smooshed-up face and said, “DUDE. THIS IS THE ANSWER.” What is it that I can do/ accomplish/ feel there that I can’t here? I don’t know. In fact, just the other day I was wishing for long, neighborhood walks with Bird while I was taking a long neighborhood walk with Bird. Yeah, hi. Greener grass, anyone?
One thing that the Indiana town would provide that the South just can’t is proximity to Bird’s grandparents. The ability to drive just one hour to see family. Having dinner with them instead of spending 72 hours together in my house, mothers and mothers-in-law treating us to groceries and putting them away in places we’ll never think to look.
The most important thing to me about the Indiana town, I’m now realizing, is that it’s pretty small. And I like that smallness. And I really like the thought of that smallness as Bird gets older.
And then the daydreaming kicks in: I guess I also wish for long, neighborhood walks with Bird during the day and not after work, and walks where we don’t discover homeless people fishing through our neighbors’ garbage. I keep having this vision of how perfect it will be to shop at Bloomingfoods and walk to parks and stroll around the square. Picturing driving to a National Forest with my little family in just 20 minutes. Picturing a house I used to visit there that was always cleaned with herbal good-smelling stuff and had a great garden and a sweet dog and homemade hippie food on the stove. Picturing myself in that house in the evenings when it starts to get cool, having a glass of wine and a (shhh) cigarette after Bird goes to bed. Picturing myself having time to enjoy it. Picturing me and A. and Bird strolling around the little farmer’s market on the square on a Saturday. Just picturing a simpler picture.
I know what you’re saying. Picking up and moving isn’t going to make those things appear, that it’s all about blooming where you’re planted and all kinds of loodydoo stuff like that. I know that what I want at the core of this is just time. And I know that when I lived there I had a lot of it. I didn’t think I did, but I really, really, did.
It’s this weather, isn’t it? Fall = change. It grabbed me by the face, people. So now I want to go.