an energy shift

A blogger/writer for Vogue says for her this first week of October is all about energy shifts: clearing out the old, making space for the new. She bought some zinnias. 

This week I shifted the energy from the cozy embrace of Paddington Bear’s London—where it continues to rain, btw—to a new a squintingly sunlit country I’ve never been to, which is supposed to be home for years, with: a checked bag, a carry on, and two dogs.

Clearing out the old? I don’t even know where any of the OLD IS. (Presumably somewhere on a shipping lane between Southampton and here.)

And I’ve definitely made room for the new. On Saturday, I came home to a new house, and slept in new bed; on Monday, I ran the cold water in shower for a long time wondering why it wouldn’t get hot, made coffee in a new kitchen on a new stove, jumped in a blue taxi I’ve never used, went to work in an unfamiliar building, at a job I’ve never done before. 

I spent the last half-hour of my first day at work walking around on the circular first floor looking for the building’s exit, which is on the second floor. 

My spirit, likewise, is walking around in a circle. I often go into the wrong room in my own house.

Stefan, in diplokid fashion, use to say that life became boring once you knew your way around you own house.

But Peter found where to buy my favorite familiar rosé, I’m comfort-re-reading three novels, and after not seeing it since Niamey,  I’m contemplating the Drexel Heritage china cabinet once again. Scout and Bea still want breakfast at 8 and dinner at 5. The label is in Arabic, but Bonne Maman jam is readily available.

But what kind of dinners do I make for Peter and myself? What did we use eat wherever it was we lived before? Who am I trying to say I am with my choice of shoes at this new job? Where do I take my OOTD photo? 

I bang open the deep kitchen cupboard doors, sticky with a fresh varnish, and miss the smoothly gliding drawers we had in London. I miss my bathtub, the bus ride to work, the view of the Thames once I was there. I have the jam, but I miss the baguettes from Sainsbury.  I want to see my little Buddha statue peeking out of the front planter on Atherton Street. 

But be-here-now: I like the pale pink hydrangeas in our garden, the pine trees–Morocco has pine trees!–our new, soft Embassy-supplied bed, anticipating having a car and trips to Spain. 

Is this coin enough for the taxi to work? Why does the taxi meter say 200 but I can pay with two 10 yakker coins or a 20 yakker bill? Is that a cookie store next to our house? What flower-scent is wafting into the house? How do I even open these windows? From which window in this house can I see the moon?

I put the Buddha on the balcony outside our bedroom. He seems to be settling in, but I have no idea where to buy zinnias around here.