From the first conversation about how maybe it was time to leave the house on the hill, it only took us five months to move into our cottage in Wake Robin, near Lake Champlain. Some people take years to complete the process of choosing and then moving to a retirement community, but we said, \”Why prolong the agony? Let\’s get it over with.\”
This was my husband\’s and my fourteenth move since the Summer of Love of 1967, and you\’d think that all that practice would have made us into pros, but this was by far the hardest move of all. Since we were swapping a 2400 square-foot house with ten closets plus attic, basement, and outbuildings, for a 1400 square-foot cottage with four closets, we had to get rid of most of our stuff.
You will be surprised to hear that during this period I was not my sweet unflappable self. In fact the combined anxieties about disposing of truckloads of belongings, and getting it all done in time for the move turned me into a sort of emotional porcupine.
And when, weary and guilt-ridden after a day of packing and sorting and flinging quills at my spouse, I tried to take a break, the chaos around me made it hard to relax. Unclassifiable objects mocked me from half-filled boxes; the dogs, anxious and bored, followed me panting from room to room; and there was no comfortable place to sit. At the rate I was going, when we finally arrived in Wake Robin I would have to go not into independent living, but into skilled nursing.
That was when the universe sent me the inspiration to re-read War and Peace. For $.99 Tolstoy\’s masterpiece wafted into my Kindle and wafted me away from my chaotic Vermont homestead and into 19th century Russia.
I quickly realized that, in the decades since I\’d first read the book, either Tolstoy had become a much better writer or I had become a better reader. My jaw fell open at the masterful characterizations–Natasha\’s childish arms; Pierre\’s spectacles; Princess Mary\’s timidity. My preference for the characters had changed as well. In my twenties I had had eyes only for the intense, handsome Prince Andre, but now it was plump Pierre\’s soul that captivated me. And those battle scenes that had bored me almost to death I now found fascinating–in part because they confirmed my suspicion that there is no \”art of war,\” just a lot of noise and confusion and sheer dumb luck, or lack of it.
The day the movers came, I hardly noticed, so immersed was I in the battle of Borodino. And Napoleon\’s retreat from Russia got me through the first hectic twenty-four hours at the cottage. But the best part of this second reading of War and Peace was being able to take refuge in Tolstoy\’s voice, which remained the same, both powerful and serene, throughout my travails. For the last week in the old house, that voice was the only constant in my life, and every time I dove into the book I thought, \”does Tolstoy know, wherever he is, how grateful I feel?\”
Despite my porcupine impersonations–or perhaps because of them–the move went without a hitch. In fact, when the movers first arrived, the driver went through the house with me–up to the top floor and down to the basement, out to the garage and the old milking room–and as he passed the piles of neatly packed and labeled boxes he whistled and said, \”boy, you\’ve really got things under control here!\” It was one of the proudest moments of my life.
and now you must write your book.
Woo hoo! (And miss you.)
(from HCB) Just discovered that you are back, Lali 🙂 Yeah! I am amazed that the whole process only took 5 months–Wow! Thank you for sharing your Tolstoy \”solution\” with us. Not sure that's the book/author I would choose, but the concept could come in handy for all sorts of arduous times—great idea!
And now you've read War and Peace…twice. Wow. I don't think I know anyone else who's read it twice. I guess that compared to the Napoleonic wars, even moving seems calm and placid. I like today's drawing. You look so serene.The thing to remember about porcupines is that even though they're prickly on the outside, underneath they're softies.
If it weren't for books in arduous times, I'd be dead by now, or crazy.
And compared to Napoleon trying to move his army out of Russia and back to France, I did a splendid job of moving us out of one house and into another.
I was really sure I had responded to you here. Obviously not. (I'm blaming my iPad again.) You prompted me to download War and Peace to read again. Not that I've started it, but the intention is there.I'm very impressed how quickly you took the decision and moved. Very sensible. My in-laws are \”prolonging the agony\” and will likely do so till one of them falls down the stairs or worse. I suspect being younger, you still had all your decision-making powers and faculties still intact. (Mind you – I'm younger still, and mine seem to never have made an appearance!)
It's different for everybody, of course, but having gone through it, it seems to me that this kind of move is best done at a younger rather than an older age. I also believe that it's easier if one does it as a free choice, rather than being forced to it by illness or bereavement. At whatever age, it takes strength, physical as well as other kinds, imagination, and flexibility. I hope your in-laws find a solution that works for them.