This morning I’m going to go say goodbye to relatives. This afternoon Joe gets here. Then we’re going to spend time filling up two cars with our earthly possessions, and by Tuesday we will be in New York City.
In honor of the occasion, I’m going to repost something that was on my last blog, written while I was still in shock of the good news. (Originally posted May 10th.)
This week has been surreal. I’m going to tell you a secret. Right now, I’m wearing a shirt that has three holes in it large enough to pass a novel through. I can dip my hand into one and wave at people through another. In a few weeks, I’ll be able to afford a whole new wardrobe. Not to mention some garden soil.
Joe got an amazing new job, he’s been working hard taking classes and such, and it’s finally paid off. There’s a drawback though. It’s in New York. This means I will have to miss him horribly while he gets settled in. I might be able to visit, but it will be a bit before we are ready to move the whole family there. All things considered, I might not be able to move up there for several months.
Maybe I get to enjoy my harvest before I go, maybe not. I plan on continuing with what I’m doing for now, I’ll leave a tiny fingerprint of extra diversity behind me already with some of the plants I’ve brought in or grown. I hope to be able to gather some seeds to throw in a few areas, or I guess I will be able to buy a mixture soon. Buying something as frivolous as wildflower seeds is a strange new concept for me.
He leaves next week. I keep following him around like one of the dogs, just to sit near him while I can. But I will move up there.
Which means that I’m going to have to live within commuting distance to one of the largest cities on the planet. It is in the exact opposite direction of my dreams of living in California again. And, well, it’s a city. A big one. A big stinky cement covered traffic jam with cranky people. Sigh.
At least a rebel wild food maniac still gives tours in Central Park, so I can eat a dandelion with one of my heroes. I guess I’ll probably also take up guerilla gardening. And write. I do that sometimes. I admit, sometimes I even write poetry. Tongue in cheek poetry.
Across the lawn, a man of gold did flow
His grace spoke soft, his strength gave truth
He sang his hope, his pride of glories grown.
But lo, behold, the putrid waves of smoke
Tendrils of bitter lion’s teeth entwined
He fell to monsters beneath soft blue grass
His cries lost to the raw, eldritch madness
Into the soft embrace of well-fed soil.