Endgame
Posted on | June 6, 2006 |
You know that song? How it goes and goes and goes and you’re only half listening and you think over and over again that it’s going to end? That’s how the past week has been. It has been a week, that, in the bigger picture of things is only a small collection of minutes. Yet it was one of those weeks that will be, at least for the next few years, indelibly imprinted on my memory: my very muscles bear the mark of it (new wrist muscles have sprung up, like Popeye’s, and my hands are so sore now I can barely make a fist.)
Last Thursday we moved out of our apartment in a blur of hours during which my mom arrived (she’s moving here—long story, for another day) with sandwiches and started vacuuming. Since then DH and I have not stopped—I haven’t had internet access for a week, let alone the time to check it. I haven’t read a newspaper, listened to NPR, had any connection with the world beyond my tiny one here in this rural town where we now live. It is surreal, living like this: working this hard, physically. Waking up every day with sore muscles, and going to sleep every night with a splitting headache from pure exhaustion. Bizarre to have moved out of our home, and not move into anywhere.
My mother has moved to an apartment down the road—and we have been staying with her. Sleeping on her living room floor and eating our meals off of paper plates. In between every hour has been filled with utter, all out work. We put down 1,200 feet of hardwood floor. Sanded it. Stained it. Listening 4,000 times to the pneumatic report of the nailer, the thwack of the wrist, the exhausting repetitive precision of selecting and cutting each board.
We’d go first thing in the morning, after coffee and croissants from the local coffee shop—only checking back in at lunch and bedtime to be with our Bean, who has spent the last two weeks sprouting four molars and two other teeth. Naturally he’s been struck with a fit of anxiety at our continual uprootings and leavings. He cries often when we leave, and sleeps pressed close to our cheeks.
My mother has been wonderful, jumping in with open arms to create a safe space for him, and I imagine, biting her tongue and keeping her “I would nevers” to a minimum. We could not have survived this week without her. And tonight my older sister was here from out of town—on a business trip. She stained the floor with me today, our conversation punctuated with Darth Vadar gasps from our respirators. And as the sky turned pink, we barbecued, our first meal here, though we’re still sleeping down the road.
So it’s been one of those weeks where I have not fallen asleep, I’ve crashed to sleep. Where I’ve consumed more coffee during each day than I usually do over the course of five days. Where together DH and I ride the wild, deranged roller coaster of exhaustion induced giddiness and moodiness. The best part has been our time together—laughing as we nail, singing to the radio, stopping for nooky on a quilt under the trees in the backyard. The worst has been the way we stagger into each other verbally when we’re this tired. The way things don’t make sense the first time, and we talk ourselves into a lather trying to be clear.
And then the things in between: the coyotes last night laughing at the moon. A whole yapping pack of them, their ruckus barks and yips bouncing through the valley below. Or the wildflowers growing thickly now in waist high grasses in the meadows, and the quince blossoms, white and delicate amongst two inch thorns.
We are so close, yet the work keeps stretching out beyond what we can grasp. I try to breathe, and to drink in the moments when Bean wraps his arms around my neck, or when DH and I take a break at the local snack bar and share a milkshake on the steps. But there are times when I feel like crying. Times when I’m angry with tiredness. When nothing makes sense any more. And I cannot wait for this time to be over.
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16 Responses to “Endgame”
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June 7th, 2006 @ 12:54 am
That’s some kind of love; I rarely clear my mind for a little nooky when I’m focused on a task, much less when I’m broken with exhaustion…. I hung on every sentence, though. You guys amaze m and your writing transcendslike a butterfly from the weariness. Hang in there! Hugs!!!
June 7th, 2006 @ 1:07 am
There are these moments in time where everything seems to crash together in fits and passionate bursts that don’t make sense. Your writing is so clear and speaks to what you’re going through so beautifully, that I feel your pain and want to be there to push you aside and take up the work.
Here’s hoping you can hold Bean tight and sit quietly with him for hours soon.
We’re thinking of you!
June 7th, 2006 @ 7:34 am
Oh, it’s moving forward. YOU are moving forward! This too shall pass, and you will have such memories engraved forever. I remember those house-building-renovating times, they always seemed endless. Missed you, muchly.
June 7th, 2006 @ 7:40 am
I’ve been checking in regularly Christina, hoping that you and your family are doing alright. I love this photo….it’s at your house I assume…..
I loved your words,….”we stagger into each other verbally” how wonderfully you describe the tension and release we unlease on those closest to us, that we love. It’s safe to stagger into each other even though it’s barbed and hurts while it’s happening.
I can’t wait to hear you’ve finally moved in and to resume reading your lovely words and glimpse into the rural world you’ve embraced. I live vicariously through you in my city suburbia and I appreciate the time you take to write when you can. Hang in there, it’s almost done!
June 7th, 2006 @ 8:57 am
It reminds me of a documentary I saw about a mountain climber stuck on a mountain with a broken leg in a snow storm. He eventually makes it through sheer detirmination but towards the end has long delusional moments hearing Boney M playing in his head.
June 7th, 2006 @ 9:08 am
I can’t agree more with Steph. Props to you both for making time for “nooky” during such an intense push to the finish line. I’m so excited that this is coming together, even with your exhaustion and sore muscles. The product you’re building together is your home and it’s going to be such a lovely one when you’re done.
Take care and the rest will fall into place. We’re all sending good house energy your way.
June 7th, 2006 @ 9:21 am
It’s all you can do, hang on to the moments of Bean around your neck, and laughter, milkshakes and the love that building itself a home in the deepest sense. Thank you for giving us an update, I’ve only been checking in about 20 times a day to see how you are!
You’re almost there - and oh what a glorious day it will be when it’s done. You have my utmost admiration and respect for all this hard work you’re doing - I wish I could come and learn and help!
June 7th, 2006 @ 9:52 am
oh…all i can say
is what everyone else has
already said i’m sure
and what you probably tell yourself
and each other every day…
hang on…
hang on…
hang on…
it will come.
best of luck and
wishes for smooth sailing!
June 7th, 2006 @ 3:33 pm
Your fatigue sounds so beautiful when you tell it….hang in there!
June 7th, 2006 @ 4:29 pm
So, so close…
This will be one of those times in your life when you understand that all the hard work and sacrifice will be worth it. Soon, your little family will be together in a home that you created with your bare hands (something few can say), you will begin your new job and you will be exactly where you want to be.
And you will smile a great big smile.
June 7th, 2006 @ 4:44 pm
another builder …
http://www.commontales.com/os/we.aspx?e=1347
June 8th, 2006 @ 1:29 am
All in all it sounds like good life … Peace your way.
Richard
June 9th, 2006 @ 12:24 am
Hang in there. Oh, I can so feel your aches through every single word that you wrote and so wish it will get over soon. Hugs. On the non-achy side, I was delighted to hear about your mom being around for you at this time. I see some wonderful changes coming your way. Hugs and best wishes.
June 9th, 2006 @ 6:12 pm
your entry today reminds me of labor, the pushing, the struggle, the life. What we must do to realize our dreams and then to bring them to life.
June 9th, 2006 @ 10:23 pm
Your home is going to give back one hundred-fold what you’re putting in! Hang in there…this part will be over soon. xoxo
June 10th, 2006 @ 11:33 am
Oh, but think of how you’re exercising your heart muscles by surviving this experience together… Will look forward to hearing how the rest of your week played out.