Home is Where the Pumpkin Is

  I bought a miniature pumpkin the other day at Trader Joe's. Nesting urges. It is fall and normally I would be decorating my house with various Halloween themed stuff.  My impulse to buy the mini pumpkin and to pick out a bouquet of sunflowers for my dining room table felt like home.
I have been splitting myself between two residences. Not living in either.  Staying in both.

Temporary though it may be, time is after all, all we have.  Why can't I settle in?  The question has been plaguing me.  As if settling in might mean it's not so temporary.

I haven't really cooked in a long time.  I've defrosted meat and put it on the grill to barbecue.  I've tossed salads and packed my lunch. I've opened containers of yogurt and poured granola into a bowl. I've brewed coffee and boiled eggs.

There's virtually nothing on the walls.  I have no place to set a glass when I sit on the couch.  I watch DVD's on a 12 inch TV we bought years ago for our boat.

Mostly I manage the liter boxes - one on the balcony and one in the laundry room.  I've gone through three versions and considered for about ten minutes buying an automatic one. I settled on a covered style with a filter but I'm spending more money on liter than anything else these days - I've tried pine bark and walnut shells, clumping and non-clumping. I obsess on sweeping up and spraying fabreeze.  The cats have definitely settled in even if I haven't.

Friday, I got a call from my bank telling me someone had hacked my account and was on a spending spree in Brooklyn. This, on the same day that the garbage disposal went out and the garage door wouldn't open.  Home repairs never seem to go away no matter where you live. And money seems to escape the bank account one way or the other.

As one of my favorite songs by Mary Chapin Carpenter says, "Sometimes your the windshield. Sometimes your the bug." Guess which one I've been feeling like lately.

The good news is, I am very adaptable.
 Down right unflappable.
I'm asking myself different questions.
Having a  completely new conversation.
Although, my story does seems to have a thematic thread that continues to run through every chapter.
 Letting go.
 I'm quite practiced at it and getting more skilled at it  with each passing day.
I'm just not sure what to hold on to anymore.  What is worth holding onto?

When we were young and starting out, building our home for our family was the driving force.  Putting down roots was never a question I had to ask. It was a natural outgrowth of our lives.  We lived close to my mother in the neighborhood I grew up in. I knew where home was. I'd lived there all my life.

Right now, I think I'm a little lost.
I think, I'm a little homesick.

 I think I'm going to go into the kitchen and cook some soup.
 Not out of the can.
Homemade.

Time to settle in.