Leaving the Land of the Mango Trees

It's one of those mornings where I am still tired. I have been fighting off a cold, and I think I'm coming out the other side. I have been sorting and packing for days and weeks now, and there's still much to do. There was a reggae concert at the Arts Park last night, which lasted until 11, which meant half of the night was not a restful one. Let me collect a series of impressions and see if there's a thread that runs through them.

--I have been moving some items out of plastic bins into cardboard boxes.  I had moved them out of boxes into plastic bins when I thought through the implications of living in a flood zone.  I am so glad to be leaving this flood zone.

--Yesterday I tried to go ahead and reserve a moving van for our end of summer relocation. I had forgotten how much it costs to move across states, and my spouse pointed out that's not even including the gasoline, which is hitting all time high prices. I know this is why we keep money in the bank, but I'd rather have that money for other things.

--I am also resenting all the copays that I have to pay in my journey to restore function to my hand and wrist. I am keeping track of our medical spending--this year we're earning so little that it might actually be a tax deduction.

--I am trying to remember how it could all be worse. We might not have the money. We might not have the insurance. I could be suffering from a much more serious medical condition instead of one that will have an end. We could be stuck here because we couldn't afford to move. I do realize that my whininess is from a place of privilege, and I am using it to remind myself of all the systemic injustice and how much work there is still to do, so that more people have these rather basic privileges of health care and the means to relocate towards a better life. So much work still to do.

--let me move away from whining by noting some progress in my hand restoration. Yesterday I was able to write with my right hand. I didn't write much, but it was more legible than what my left hand produces.  I feel like my writing with my left hand is a preview of the writing I will do when I'm a little old lady:  spidery and tentative.

--I got my first unemployment check, just 4 months after beginning the process.  Here, too, I recognize my privilege:  I have time and resources, like a computer at home, that enabled me to be tenacious.

--Because I spent yesterday researching moving trucks, I am now being bombarded with ads for movers who would like to move us. I wonder how much that would cost.

--We are also considering just getting rid of most furniture and mattresses and replacing them on the other end.

--I also did some writing on the computer and came up with part of a poem that I like. Let me close by posting a few lines from that poem:

I will not vote on the path to the future

for others to follow.

I buy a ticket for passage

on the last boat that swims to the monastery.

I will not be here to see the mangoes ripen.