The Chronicles, No. 3

Greetings from Pomfret, Connecticut. 

In the span of the 12 days since my last entry we/I:

• Packed and inventoried the contents of exactly 100 boxes.
• Ran two road races.

• Unpacked and found new places for the contents of exactly 100 boxes.
• Ran a 21+ mile marathon training run.
• Arranged and rearranged several pieces of reasonably heavy furniture.
• Hosted two family dinners.
• Spent countless uneasy hours listening to Max cry himself to sleep while he adjusts to his new home.
• Got Max off to his first day at his new day care.

• And perhaps most importantly, set up the internet connection in our home.

While these are all worthy and necessary efforts, none of them means nearly as much to me as the feeling of simply being here.  I stand taller and breathe more deeply.

The breeze blows the absolute sweetest scent of blackberries through the air - so strong you'd swear it was the cloying odor of a Yankee Candle.  But, my God, it's just the smell of berries!  

I took a deliciously fresh bite of an apple - from a tree in the backyard. 

Jogging these roads, I can clock quarters of a mile between the houses - if I can see them at all through the trees or over the crests of the intervening hills.  The ubiquitous hills afford magnificent panoramas of the fields, forests, and farm houses that dot the Pomfret and surrounding towns' landscape.  Running them is tough on my muscles which had grown accustomed to flatter terrain.  And while we live on a Connecticut designated scenic route you don't need a state or a sign to tell you what you can simply see.

When we went to the local post office the other day, the postal worker was not only friendly, but recognized Linda's last name.  "Oh, you're Nick and Polly's daughter.  Welcome to Pomfret!"

Max has seen his Grandma more in the past week combined than he had in the past several months.  He also gets to go to "Bampa's" house to see his motorcycle.  Max also enjoys picking flowers in the field behind our house.

As yet there is no such thing as 'traffic.'

The morning air is cool; the grass drenched in dew. Crisp autumn leaves flutter to the ground and swirl behind the cars speeding down the empty road.

Idyllic as it is, peaceful as it is, there is a certain restlessness that continues to linger.  I know it will take a few more weeks of unpacking and settling in before I can truly relax and focus on the larger questions that have yet to be answered.  Now that we are here, how will we actually go about shaping the life we want to lead?  And practically speaking, how will we finance it?  Will outer peace facilitate the inner peace I seek?  What compromises will have to be made?  

And perhaps the most stultifying question asked everyday about an hour too late:  What should we have for dinner?

But for now we just have to figure out where to keep our shoes, some winter coats, and the clothes that used to fit Max, that fit him now, and that will fit him in the months to come.

I'll be able to write with more frequency in the coming days so stay tuned.