limbo

clearly "soon" is relative.

I left England a month ago, but it seems simultaneously like a moment and decades since I stepped on the plane.

I am not good at saying goodbye. I hate the implied permanence and the wrench in my sternum when we actually part and walk away from each other. The sudden absence of loved ones, when an hour ago we were laughing and drinking wine, throbs for days. And every encounter leading up to the appointed minute of waving through a train window borrows the upcoming sadness. Like paper towel absorbing spilled coffee.

While goodbyes are not my forte, being said goodbye to is even worse. I hate being left behind. I feel so futile, (is that even possible? for one's entire being to be futile?) whenever I am the one wishing safe travels and helping with luggage. Standing at Heathrow crying into my sleeves I remembered a teeshirt slogan: "If you leave me, I am coming with you." Except it was in French, so it sounded much more chic and less desperate. And, to be fair, when people leave me I don't always want to go off on their adventures with them, I just want to be going on my own and not right back out the whooshing airport doors and into a normal Saturday.

So then it was back to canadia: cupcakes, wild laughter, a drunken thursday, and manic conversation started the relocation off. Then another trip to the damn airport to put someone I love on a plane, and a few days of quiet before an orgy of landscaping and construction. When I am 87 I would like to be able to haul landscaping ties around in 30 degree heat. My grandfather did for the better part of a week, and now we have a nice retaining wall that is both level and not about to fall over.

The garden is planted with goodies: peppers, beans, tomatoes, and carrots. But since le frere used the carrot patch for theatrical pyrotechnics practice* we have seen no carrots. To be fair, I don't think he knew about the carrots because I didn't label them, but then, I wasn't expecting the symphony of fire in our back yard.

As promised, Morocco...



The Sahara, 15 km from the Algerian border...

(in an effort to force myself to actually write more regularly, the photos will be spread out over a bunch of posts. for all 2 of you who read this...)


*yes, my brother was setting of fireworks in our vegetable garden. No, I don't have pictures.