Unbound-ingly yours

Dec. 21, 2006 will from now on be my personal independence day. Yesterday, I became the proud owner of nothing. The house home now to others, the car steered by a new driver, my address forwarded to my parents. As frighteningly unsure as it sounds, it is liberating. Buoyant even.

I even received a clean bill of health from the doctors and Helen, the difficult armoire, finally came home to the farm. Snug and amongst people and cats again, she is regaining her grand stature. All in all, a gleaming star of a stellar day.

The only blue spots come from parting. Parting with the lush vegetation, live oak trees, and beauty of Tallahassee. My lovely Southern town and the bitter sweet of my life there will be missed. But the people, as usual, made the best impression. So, goodbye to my former teachers, the best ex-bosses ever, a few ghosts and mostly to my friends Nancy, Sarah, and Mark F. Sorry it was not done in person, but it is silly to say “bye” when I will continue to pester you in some form. (And Mark, I think I still owe you a dessert.)

Hopefully my giddy current continues to Florence where it will carry me to other facets, people, ideas, knowledge, and espresso. (And while I’m wishing, a job too.) Have a sparkling holiday season and may 2007 bring some dreams to reality. Love, peace, happiness.  I’ll see you on the other side of the pond (again).

Mentone

At the age of 10 I realized my parents were crazy. It was that year they bought a ramshackle and run-down old hotel in North Alabama. Today, the Mentone Springs Hotel is lovely, functional, not very haunted even. But our first act of family ownership involved re-roofing it and its 25 or so roof leaks. Five crews were needed because they all kept quitting on us. No wonder with the turrets and steep pitches. The final crew was inebriated and I’m convinced that false fortitude is the only thing that got them through the job.

My parents sold it in 92 when they relocated to Vienna, Austria and I have not spent the night in it since, until last weekend when mom, dad, and I drove up for a cold visit. Andy and Marc, the current owners and the ones mother likes to say “finished her dream” have turned the old thing around. Heated rooms, beautiful linens, beds, wonderful food. It truly is not the same place, well, except one very large detail. The fireplace. In the lobby there is a 3-sided fireplace which has always been a gathering spot and I happily noted this is still the tradition. It reminds me of the way things used to be. Travelers and locals mingle and discuss the state of things. They gather news from each other and of course talk politics, weather, religion and the meaning of life. And so we did. Of course now we did it as guests— a more affordable alternative to ownership— and it makes the whole thing surreal. Hearing newcomers talk about the building, the town. Reliving old histories and rumors. It was a wonderful weekend. Lucy was there with her lilac soup, Marc and Andy hosted and entertained, a lady named Sue shared stories of her life, there was even a beautiful puppy Pepe la Pew.

I rotated around the fire and thought of all of the gifts my parents have given me — magical chaos, entertainment, multifaceted fellowship of friends — and all elements are still lingering there; next to a kept fire and out of the cold air. Go there, you’ll understand and be better for it.

Pre-dawn

There is the slightest bit of color creeping into my eastern horizon letting me know I can give up any ghost of sleep. For the past few hours I’ve had other ghosts on my mind; ghosts of old boyfriends and forgotten friends. Primarily and honestly though it has been Mark that occupies my sleepless thoughts.

If you don’t know, he and I were together for almost 7 years and we restored the house I’m currently selling. Walking through the empty rooms, discovering the paint jobs he skimped on, remembering all the little details of home renovation that we went through together has forced me to bring that large bit of my past into new consciousness. I joked the other night about how odd it is I will profit on the house he talked me into buying. It was a dump when I first saw it and after a lot of effort on both of us, it really is a dwelling, a home, and beautiful container of many memories and life changes of mine. And the biggest change was a direct result of heart-break.

Because, while selling my home and packing (again) for Italy, the thing that keeps rolling around in the loose spaces is that I would have never gone if still in that relationship. There was no way it would have seemed plausible to even apply for a job in Florence. It was difficult for me to not assume responsibility and dress up for the roles of stability and security.  But the past (almost) two years has reacquainted me with independence, whimsy for my own sake and the joy of never needing to consult for a personal decision. And I have Florence. So freedom to live and discover life is well worth the pain of a few months of tears and heartache.

Unfortunately, there’s the rub. The salt that kept me up last night. I have no way of thanking him. No way to let him know all is truly forgiven (and for once, not forgotten). I can’t swap stories about my life now or let him know that after all the time we shared I’m finally doing what he wanted me to do and that is to live and to write and to not be afraid.  But I’ll take comfort in the fact there is always a dawn and hope that he too has found his.

Ah, and look, now it’s daybreak.