On the Verge of Tomorrow

“There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow, shining at the end of every day, there’s a great big beautiful tomorrow, and tomorrow’s just a dream away.” I hummed along to that tune every time I walked from Disneyland through Downtown Disney to our hotel room. That was just last week. Me, my daughter, and The Littles all jumbled, tumbled in the Wonderful World of Ultra Stimulation and Dollar Signs. It was charming and hot and humanity-packed and tantrum-iced and princess-glittered and, well, if you’ve been to the Magic Kingdom, you know—-Magic.

But that was last Thursday and I’m sitting on my daughter and son-in-law’s crowded wrought iron-framed balcony in Rego Park, New York. To my right are faded plastic sea toys idled in a bleached water table basin. To my left are the same plants that were tiny sprouts the last time I visited back in July: Thai basil, dill, rosemary, tomatoes, sunflowers, snapdragons, and a hanging strawberry plant, now gangly and in need of some pruning and water, which I’ll do when The Littles, Millie, 3, and Hudson, 21 months, wake up. 

It’s almost 8:30 a.m. and they’re still sawing logs. Not unusual considering we didn’t arrive to the apartment until close to 9 p.m. which left them about an hour for dinner and bonding.

Being away from home is exciting, stimulating, and important. But getting back, awwwww, is a big sigh that all is well in the world; it’s a signal, a return normal, a schedule, healthy diet, proper sleep. Normally, when Katie leaves for New York, I’m weepy that she’s gone. This time, because she has two wee children under three, I escorted her home to make sure the five-hour flight was a little less stressful. It’s the first time I got a chance to see the babies bond with their home. As soon as they walked in, sleepy-eyed from the nighttime car ride home, they squealed, jumped up and down, and ran from corner to corner, touching, playing with, tossing books and blankets, trikes, trains and Disney princess dolls. There’s Miranda! from Encanto, Charlie! the perpetual shedding lab mix dog, the basket of balls! the kitchen set! the stroller! the set of wonky drawers brimming with clothes! Stuff. Favorite stuff. In places they remember. Bringing them delight and security. Joy.

If you have read any of my prior blogs, particularly over the last year, you’ll recognize a reoccurring theme: my on-again, off-again relationship with stuff. Chronic shedding and obtaining. Spending and saving. The comfort of having everything I need at my fingertips. The freedom of carrying everything I need on my back or safely tucked away in my four-wheel hacienda. And the ping in my heart that needs to nest, be surrounded by my books and photos and limited items boxed away in the $300 a month storage unit I need to sort through and cut in half—once again. Which I will, start of November, when I return from a two-month sojourn.

My life is changing once again. 

I’ll close shop at the Portofino Apartments in Redondo Beach in less than a week’s time. Since January it’s been a respite from the winter (and crazy summer) rains, and broken camper van, and Monet’s ill health, which originally prompted me to anchor in the city I moved away from last summer. My hometown. My beginnings. My family, friends, my hub, and sense of connectedness to the past and present. A place to breathe, this worn, 1970s-vibe, one-bedroom apartment with an incredible view of the Marina.

I could probably live here forever. But that’s what I said about my home on Garnet Street which I sold because I craved the excitement—and fear—of adventure. Staying put, being a couch potato, is my natural go-to. I love to nest, create and re-create my Barbie Dreamhouse settings, build a safe zone, a place to return to. Home. And my Redondo apartment could have been it, had the rent not been so expensive. And while I’ve been assured that rents are expensive everywhere, frankly, I’d rather use rent money to travel.

I’m not saying my knees aren’t shaking. They are. Leaving something I know, am sure of, for the great unknown is not in my nature. All the things that could go wrong—future worries—often consume me. But I know that if I don’t try, if I don’t jump now, that opportunity might just escape me. 

So here I sit, now in the quietude of my daughter’s apartment, with the babies and daughter napping, knowing that when I leave this zany, crowded palace of love, I will return to my temporary home to pack up, sort out, donate and move on to a new life.

More reflecting is in store. But for now, as I sip my cold coffee and listen to the baby monitor as my grandchildren stir, I am grateful that my life is where it is, that I had the most incredible summer camping with my grandsons along California’s Central Coast, then visiting the East Coast’s historic sites with both of my daughters, grandchildren, our family reunion in Montana, and Katie and the kiddo’s month-long visit back home to Mama’s bachelorette pad in Redondo.

This time last year I never would have thought I’d have these adventures. One door closes and another opens. The future looks bright.

But for now, I have this precious, New York pre-Fall day to cherish.