Limbo

It is hard living in limbo.  Half of me stays up there in my new house.  The other half lives down here in town, ten miles to the west.  Half of me forgets that I have left half of my stuff up there on the hill.  The other half has a hard time remembering just what I have packed up to move and what still remains in the back of the closet.

One foot in the country.  One foot in town.  The car and the truck run the road from dawn to dark.  Many of my new neighbors can testify to that.  They see us headed out in the morning.  Then they see me heading back fifteen or twenty minutes later to get something I have forgotten.  "Will it ever be so?", I wonder ruefully.

Walking back to my home in town this morning with two bags of groceries in my hands, I happened to think, "Wonder if I'll miss living just a half block from the store  when I live out in the country?"  That almost made me stop in my tracks and laugh and laugh and laugh.  Miss it?  You better believe it!  I will probably end up coming into town several times a week, hopefully not every day, for something I need.  I have lived in town  going on thirty-six years.  I am spoiled rotten.

But in time I will learn how to stock up and make do.  After all, when I was the mother of a six-month old, I moved to a house that was at least fourteen miles from the nearest town.  We had a country store that was three miles away where we could get milk and  bread if we ran out.  But we very rarely had to do that.

Yes, I am in limbo now.  But soon I will be all together in one place.  Hopefully, my car and truck will stay parked up there.  Not running the roads. Just at home.  Not in limbo anymore.