At the still point of the turning world

These last few weeks have been a flurry of changes and decisions leading up to a monumentally exciting move to Hawaii. The accompanying emotions are mixed.

We are getting the chance to live in Hawaii rent free in a five bedroom house a stone's throw from one of the most beautiful beaches in the world for six months. James has gotten the Ok to work from home on Pacific time (5-2 in Hawaii) so we will be going to bed early, exploring the island, taking naps and watching for "LOST" stars. We'll pay off some lingering debt more quickly, save up for a newer car and live a life we might not ever get the chance to live. It's really an amazing opportunity that I think anyone would fanangle their lives to allow.

But the initiating reason for us going is that my sister Mandy--whose house it is and whose son I will be caring for--is getting deployed to Afghanistan and is in fact already in the middle of Texas in the middle of the hot season getting ready to be shipped out. Via Skype, she seems in relatively good spirits, resigned to this reality as part of the deal, but maybe slightly more crabby and less impressed with all that the military has done for her. Sitting here with Henry squawking beside me, I just can't really imagine.

As a part of this move, we are packing up our apartment, paring down our belongings once again-less than a year since we moved out of our house in Indiana and did the same thing. Good friends who have recently moved to the Portland area and had no attachment to their previous furniture have given ours a new home while we are away, an easy, free storage system that benefits all involved.

So our living room is a parking lot for finny's trucks and cars and the boxes that vary in stages of fullness. I mentioned before my inability to time the weaning process of food in our fridge before a vacation. I seem to be about as good at packing up a house without putting something ridiculously necessary like a warm sweater for each of the boys in cool Portland spring or spatulas in the bottom of a box not to be found again until the next arrival.

We sold our car to a lovely girl who bought it for a song for her sister, also a lovely girl who seemed a bit down on her luck. I felt good about giving her the keys. But as she drove away and the boys and I stood in the cold rain at a Fred Meyer on the northeast side of Portland, waiting for our ride, I got very nostalgic and sad. With all of its quirks (awful handling, bizarre dash lights constantly blinking on to betray a new chronic problem, electrical malfunction making the back windows and the sun roof unusable), we brought both of the boys home from the hospital in this car. It's come a long way with us.

This all sounds very negative considering the unbeatable situation we have been handed. I am really excited about this chapter for James and me and the boys-Jake and Scott included. I think I'm just focused right now on the leaving and not as much on the arriving. I can't quite see the forest yet for the trees.

If praying is something you do, I would ask for yours especially right now. For the details of leaving; for Mandy, Scott and Jake's comfort and relative ease in transition; for a smoothing over of all the possible difficulties of living in community, for safety, and I guess also for a respectful, effective end to these wars.

As usual, this reminds me of Eliot, "not farewell but fare forward"

Fare forward, travellers! Not escaping from the past
Into indifferent lives, or into any future;
You are not the same people who left that station
Or who will arrive at any terminus,
While the narrowing rails slide together behind you;
And on the deck of the drumming liner
Watching the furrow that widens behind you,
You shall not think 'the past is finished'
Or 'the future is before us'...

Here between the hither and the farther shore
While time is withdrawn, consider the future
And the past with an equal mind.