daily preciousness

Monday, March 21, 2005

moving experience

Moving in with Henry was easy. It felt as natural as snow peas in a stir-fry.

Duct-taped and hand-labeled boxes piled up in the basement, addresses updated, new phone numbers shared.

I memorized the number of stairs going down into the basement, peripheral vision blocked by stacked armfuls of possession.

After a few weeks, nighttime travels through unknown hallways grew less perilous. I internalized the maps, the clearance space, the headroom and elbow room of landings, closets and entries.

His space was becoming mine.

Likewise, the emotional transition was velvety smooth, like a glass of pinot noir when combined with a crackerful of roasted brie.

I half-expected the moving-in experience to be a shock. I wondered if one of us would be (understandably) cranky. Would I quibble over triviality? Grow impassive over molehill ephemera? We did not.

Those concerns lingered for less time than it took me to locate my toiletry supplies.

My fears cast no shadows. Like the steam shooting out of our new humidifier, they disappeared. As they vanished before me, I breathed easier.

My routines and his did not conflict. Our schedules remained compatible. Everything was humming along.

Until the day he announced that he was no longer going to work. For a year. He had a buy-out of his contract. And immediately, his daily schedule changed drastically. It was a shock.
Suddenly, I faced the fact that he'd be home most of the time. My usual hour or so of quiet time after work vanished.

This was quite a new development. I had to ask myself: Would the engine of our emotional progress still operate with these new variables?

Would we be on track and in line with each other? Would the parallels hold?

I moved in February 28th. Today it's nearly a month later. And everything has held.

Thinking back to the actual moving in experience, I knew that the cardboard boxes strewn around his world would immediately trigger an acute must-tidy-must-tidy reaction from Sir Clean-a-lot. But he insisted that he could wait until I was ready to straighten. That was generous of him, especially considering that he experiences almost physical, palpable discomfort at seeing clutter.

He's managed really well. And I think we're both adapting quite well to each other.

I adore this guy. He is shockingly sweet. And his eyes sparkle when he smiles at me.


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