I have been having more stirrings recently about moving out of the city. And the thing is, I love living in the city. I love living in MY city. We have the best friends in the world here, we love our Prius-and-Shitty-Cadillac neighborhood, we have short commutes and a fabulous public library, excellent daycare, progressive church and miles of greenway right outside our door.
But still.
I'll be going along minding my own business, doing my dishes or something and then WHAM! out of the blue I almost can't even see straight because the call is so strong for me to move my family out to the country and wear an apron and can what's left of my tomatoes, or rock a baby on my front porch and listen to the rain with nothing else on my agenda for the afternoon, plant lettuce in the fall, slow it all down, focus in. Let go of my urgencies, have some space to breathe.
In my head, this happens in Monroe County, Indiana, and when I listen to Bonnie Prince Billy, the need sometimes becomes an actual pain.
Have a listen.
2 comments:
Dave and O (and Clyde) and I are coming in your suitcase.
I have my vintage aprons, my canning jars and I too am ready to find my little place among the trees to raise my family and slow things way down. House is going on the market in the spring. You should trust that feeling you're having. It's a mama's instinct.
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