Today was the first time we came home to our new place after a vacation. It wasn't nearly as traumatic as it used to be. In previous years I would get more anxious the closer we got to our town, and by the time we returned to the smoke-filled dark rooms we called home, I'd be ready to pack it all in, give up the health insurance and the retirement account for some fresh air and decent light. Somewhere out west, somewhere with less snow in winter and less swelter in summer. But this time, pulling into our underground garage and riding the elevator up to the third floor, I actually looked forward to opening the big wooden door and seeing the blond bamboo floor and smelling the almost-new-house smells. It is good to be home. I was tired after the drive (although Sean actually drove), so I crawled into our huge cozy life raft of a bed and took a nap, my head surrounded by the soothing first-aid-kit smell of the wool pillows.
Our most recent adventure was a backpacking trip - Maple's first - near Killington, Vermont, on (yes) the Appalachian Trail. She carried her own pack and wore a hot pink dress while hiking six or seven miles a day. On the final day, she climbed up the gentle slopes of Killington, about five miles of slow and steady incline. Near the end, to motivate her, I mentioned that my guidebook cited a restaurant on the peak if she was willing to scramble up 0.2 miles of rock, hand over hand. She brightened at the promise of french fries or pizza or a milkshake or maybe all three, and we crept on.
The spur to the top was amazing and very, very scary. I was clinging to the side of the mountain; every time I turned around to face the nothingness and the amazing view, I felt dizzy. Maple and Sean climbed steadily twenty feet below me and I couldn't bear to think of my little 5-year-old scrambling up the rocks with nothing behind her. Turns out she loves to scramble - I heard her cackling below me and I yelled down, "Hey Maple! Turn around!" I heard the slow shuffle of her feet as she did, and then a little sucking noise in her throat, followed by "Oh. My. God." She was on top of the world.
It turned out the resort's Peak Restaurant had blown off in a windstorm, so we took the gondola down the ski slope - a 15-minute ride in an airless chamber - and had ice cream and chips at the snack bar.
About three weeks ago, before the backpacking trip, we all ran a race. Sean and I ran a 5k race that was also a fundraiser for ALS, which my uncle Dennis suffered from before he died last fall. The 5k motivated me to get in the best shape I've been in since running cross country in college - better shape than I ever thought I'd be in again after the MS diagnosis. I'm trying to figure out which other races I'll run this year - I'd like to run something off-road, something longer than 5k.
Maple raced two weekends in a row: a 200m track race at our 5k, and the next weekend at the inaugural BAA 10k, she ran a 100m. (The BAA puts on the Boston Marathon too.) Both times she smiled and laughed all the way.
Sean got a bike about six weeks ago and started riding to work instead of commuting in the car, which he said depressed him. He works 21 miles away, and he rides there and back every day, even when he closes the store and leaves at 10:30 at night. He rides by Walden Pond and Sleepy Hollow Cemetery where some of his heroes - Emerson, Thoreau, Alcott - are buried. He also runs a few days a week and is training for more races later in the fall.
Once a week we pick up our CSA produce from Land's Sake, a farm in neighboring Weston, and then we eat salad and garlic scapes and cabbage and fennel like crazy so we can have an empty fridge for next week's pick-up.
We've grown used to living in Natick. We love the hourly church bells and the subdued street life just outside and below us. There aren't really any good restaurants here, but you can walk to the ATM and the library and the farmer's market. We're learning about good running routes and trails nearby, and we know a couple of locals that we see and chat with when we're walking around town. Sean gets his beard trimmed at the barber down the street, and there's an Italian grocery on Main that makes great Sicilian pizza, heavy on the oregano.
I'm not really looking forward to going back to work tomorrow after ten days off, but as soon as I'm walking down the hall to my office, I'll feel good about it. In the most unlikely place - a place we never would have chosen to live if it weren't for the job that brought us here - we've made a home. And it is good.
2 comments:
When I moved to Minneapolis to go to school, I never in a million years thought I'd settle here. I mean, all the SNOW! And the winter is 6 months long. But it's home, ya know? Funny, where we end up.
Glad to hear you had such a wonderful vacation!
Good to hear you on here again! Missed it. Sounds like a good trip. Glad you all are doing so well!
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