One of the downsides of planning to run away to the other side of the world is the cost of luggage. I won't be able to keep everything we currently have in our home. I don't especially want to keep everything we have now. I don't actually want everything we have now, currently. (I could happily get rid of a lot of things, but apparently my family is still using stuff).
As I go about my daily activities, I evaluate the merit of the things I use. Will I take this giant, heavy bowl (perfect for making bread)? Yes. Electronics will all be left -- the different electrical voltage will not work with my blender. Which books will I need, and which can be re-homed?
It gives me a peculiar, disinterested perspective on the things I use. Should we replace the dining table with a wobbly leg? Well, if we move in five years, it probably won't be worth it. We can probably make it work, or mend it if we need to. If we have to replace the washer, what will we do with it when we leave -- should we leave it for the renters?
I'm slowly culling some of the surplus. I have an ebay page to sell things that are too good to donate. (And the money I make helps pay off the house, so we can afford to live on a traveler's income.) I am giving hard looks to my husband's tool collection -- how many wrenches does one man need? If I sell them one by one, will he notice? Is there even a market for that? (There's not. I checked.)
I have become curiously immune to the siren song of Target. I don't have a desire to decorate a house I am already packing in my mind.
Friday, January 17, 2020
Monday, December 30, 2019
Christmas
Traveling at Christmas is emotionally loaded. It means we'll miss all the regular celebrations. We won't put the tree where we always do. We won't drive from our house, to my sister-in-law's (30 min), to my sister's (an hour) and home again. We won't wake up with the kids in our bedroom.
Some of the changes are inevitable. Our kids will be growing up and moving out, regardless. So we must move onward, so seize new opportunities.
How do they celebrate there? I've read about nativities in Italy, progressions in Spain, trees in Germany. How are German Christmases different than American ones? I'd love to attend a Christkindlemarket in Germany.
I'd miss understanding Christmas Eve services. I'd miss reading about the angels. Can I just bring my English Bible, and make up for the language difference that way?
And of course, I could fly the kids in to wherever we are, so we can celebrate together. So I guess I can still wake up with all of us together.
Some of the changes are inevitable. Our kids will be growing up and moving out, regardless. So we must move onward, so seize new opportunities.
How do they celebrate there? I've read about nativities in Italy, progressions in Spain, trees in Germany. How are German Christmases different than American ones? I'd love to attend a Christkindlemarket in Germany.
I'd miss understanding Christmas Eve services. I'd miss reading about the angels. Can I just bring my English Bible, and make up for the language difference that way?
And of course, I could fly the kids in to wherever we are, so we can celebrate together. So I guess I can still wake up with all of us together.
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
York in Winter
The weather today is forecast to be mostly sunny, with a high of 70 degrees -- here. In York, the beautiful walled city in northern England, the high is 44, and they are warning about possible disruptions to travel due to rain. And yet, I am completely infatuated with the idea of being there, not here.
I have it all worked out. First floor condo, or maybe attached home. I thought about a little stone cottage but the stone is hard to warm up, and we are done with yard work. We need a bit of a garden, so we have a place to hang out our laundry, but I'm looking for easy.
I'm sitting in my comfy chair, feet up. Is the chair covered in a floral chintz? Is that too twee? I like the idea of soft cotton under my fingers, and bright colors, so I'm not sure. My feet are up, I have a soft quilt on my lap, the dog is snoozing on the sofa. (Yes, I know he's supposed to be on the floor. But he's sleeping on the sofa in actual fact right now, and I don't see myself teaching him otherwise. Even in my fantasy life.)
n the afternoon, the little girl who lives next door will come over. Her mom needs a little extra time, especially this time of year, maybe to get some shopping in, or possibly to get some wrapping done. I know I never had enough time when my kids were little, so I'm providing supplemental grandmother time. We'll bake up a batch of Christmas cookies, and the three of us will decorate them. I invented a technique of decorating when my kids were little; we use paint brushed to paint the frosting on the cookie, giving a lot of control to the kids. And in the end, what's important is how they taste, not whether they look like they came from a bakery. We send a lot of the cookies home with her, but we also package up a tin for the young couple that live next door. If the rain holds off, we'll run them over together when the lights come on next door.
When the last batch of cookies come out of the oven, I throw a "noodle bake" into the oven. Because leading with "noodle" makes kids happier than the word "casserole." I don't know why. Science must have the answer. We can have noodles for dinner (I should probably throw a veg in when I make up the casserole), then send her back home to her mum for bed.
We take the dog out for his last walk of the night. The air is frigid. I make him wear booties and a rain coat, as he is a southern California dog, and not accustomed to icey toes. We have to dash for the door.
The rain starts beating against the window. It's not cold enough for ice.
I prepare a hot water bottle, so I don't have to slip into a freezing cold bed. My husband is more of a night owl than I am, and he stays up late more often than I do, so I pamper myself with heat. I fall asleep to the sound of the rain.
I have it all worked out. First floor condo, or maybe attached home. I thought about a little stone cottage but the stone is hard to warm up, and we are done with yard work. We need a bit of a garden, so we have a place to hang out our laundry, but I'm looking for easy.
I'm sitting in my comfy chair, feet up. Is the chair covered in a floral chintz? Is that too twee? I like the idea of soft cotton under my fingers, and bright colors, so I'm not sure. My feet are up, I have a soft quilt on my lap, the dog is snoozing on the sofa. (Yes, I know he's supposed to be on the floor. But he's sleeping on the sofa in actual fact right now, and I don't see myself teaching him otherwise. Even in my fantasy life.)
This is Archie. He's not supposed to sleep on the blanket or the pillow. His head is on the right.
n the afternoon, the little girl who lives next door will come over. Her mom needs a little extra time, especially this time of year, maybe to get some shopping in, or possibly to get some wrapping done. I know I never had enough time when my kids were little, so I'm providing supplemental grandmother time. We'll bake up a batch of Christmas cookies, and the three of us will decorate them. I invented a technique of decorating when my kids were little; we use paint brushed to paint the frosting on the cookie, giving a lot of control to the kids. And in the end, what's important is how they taste, not whether they look like they came from a bakery. We send a lot of the cookies home with her, but we also package up a tin for the young couple that live next door. If the rain holds off, we'll run them over together when the lights come on next door.
When the last batch of cookies come out of the oven, I throw a "noodle bake" into the oven. Because leading with "noodle" makes kids happier than the word "casserole." I don't know why. Science must have the answer. We can have noodles for dinner (I should probably throw a veg in when I make up the casserole), then send her back home to her mum for bed.
We take the dog out for his last walk of the night. The air is frigid. I make him wear booties and a rain coat, as he is a southern California dog, and not accustomed to icey toes. We have to dash for the door.
The rain starts beating against the window. It's not cold enough for ice.
I prepare a hot water bottle, so I don't have to slip into a freezing cold bed. My husband is more of a night owl than I am, and he stays up late more often than I do, so I pamper myself with heat. I fall asleep to the sound of the rain.
Monday, December 9, 2019
Where do you want to go?
I have a dream of walking on cobbled streets in some distant town, carrying home my purchases from market. I visited an old woman who sells cheese with her grandson. Sometimes his children stop into the shop after school. I have a bottle of wine, and a loaf of bread, still warm, and apples or plums. I go home to sit on the balcony, watching the sunset with my husband, eating our simple supper and planning for tomorrow.
I dream of sitting in a large chair, with a soft blanket, a hot cup of tea, and a snoring dog at my feet. The rain makes a constant, quiet background against the window. I read sections of my book aloud to my husband, and he reads me sections of his book aloud. We'll have to take the dog out eventually, but not yet.
We take a train across mountains, to a city where we don't speak the language, to explore architecture that predates the earliest settlements of the United States. We sit in a solid, ancient pub to eat something hearty and starchy and disapproved by whatever diet is currently in ascendance. But I remain healthy and slim because I spend the day walking. (It's my dream, I can dream what I want.)
We meet interesting people, learn about how other people live their lives, step into the other lives we could live. We have enough space in our flat for friends and family to visit. We are part of a community, because I teach or tutor part time; we have enough time to travel and a work visa to allow us to stay in the country longer than a tourist visa allows.
The stack of travel books next to my chair has included Poland, Barcelona, Germany, Prague, Sweden and the Orkney Islands in the last couple months. I have debated with myself the amount of daylight necessary, the how much cold is too much, the political situation in Spain, how do you pronounce Polish words. I have imagined bird watching strange birds, trekking the Camino de Santiago, and attending Christmas Eve service in a cathedral a thousand years old.
I want to do it all.
I dream of sitting in a large chair, with a soft blanket, a hot cup of tea, and a snoring dog at my feet. The rain makes a constant, quiet background against the window. I read sections of my book aloud to my husband, and he reads me sections of his book aloud. We'll have to take the dog out eventually, but not yet.
We take a train across mountains, to a city where we don't speak the language, to explore architecture that predates the earliest settlements of the United States. We sit in a solid, ancient pub to eat something hearty and starchy and disapproved by whatever diet is currently in ascendance. But I remain healthy and slim because I spend the day walking. (It's my dream, I can dream what I want.)
We meet interesting people, learn about how other people live their lives, step into the other lives we could live. We have enough space in our flat for friends and family to visit. We are part of a community, because I teach or tutor part time; we have enough time to travel and a work visa to allow us to stay in the country longer than a tourist visa allows.
The stack of travel books next to my chair has included Poland, Barcelona, Germany, Prague, Sweden and the Orkney Islands in the last couple months. I have debated with myself the amount of daylight necessary, the how much cold is too much, the political situation in Spain, how do you pronounce Polish words. I have imagined bird watching strange birds, trekking the Camino de Santiago, and attending Christmas Eve service in a cathedral a thousand years old.
I want to do it all.
Friday, December 6, 2019
The Beginning
And it's been great. I love what we've done together. But the amount of togetherness will be declining, of necessity, in the next several years. People will be moving out. I will no longer be required for transport or school support. I no longer will be the person responsible for making sure homework is completed.
We're not rich, by conventional standards. My husband is a teacher, and we live on his income alone, in Southern California. We were very, very, very lucky to buy our house (when we still had two incomes) just before housing prices went from ridiculous to impossible. Our budget is pretty tight. How tight? Only two members of our family have mobile phones. We do without some of the things other people think are necessities, by choice, so we can live a life that is focused on our kids and our family. But we are fortunate enough to have choices, and we have more than enough (which is rich in most parts of the world, and even for many people in this one).
So what's next?
What do we do when we becomes two instead of four? Do we stay home, waiting for the kids to come back for a weekend, or do we do something ...different? I want something different.
So this is my forum to explore, plan, dream the next stage of my life. I'm currently dreaming about moving away, to explore the world in a way I didn't when I was young. So here I will write out my fantasies about travel to far-away places, my logistics of what needs to be done to accomplish my goals, and my concrete actions to get to where I want to be.
If you're planning a journey of your own, I'd love company on this voyage of exploration.
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