My new living room.

Settling into my new temporary home and a slower pace of life. My favorite feature at the Bookstore Maven's former abode is the front porch. Deep, secluded and shaded, with a romantic swing and a separate seating area, fringed by twisting honeysuckle vines and protective conifers. I take most of my meals out here and am re-learning my childhood habit of whiling away entire hours immersed in other lives, entered via a stack of library books.

My other living room is the coffeehouse of the day, so I can indulge, briefly, my Internet obsessions. I try to mix the location up a bit from day to day, so I don't become "that weird lady who's always at Xxxx." But with Meadowlark and Jones each just a few blocks away, I usually end up at one of those locales. So maybe I'll become "that lady" yet. Everyone needs a goal.

Funny how uncomfortable it's been, at first, to not really have anything "to do." Plenty to do, actually -- just no immediate daily obligations, unstructured by the lack of a day job. (Don't worry too much -- I do seem to be settling into it.)

Actually, the whole situation is more than a little reminiscent of my summer in Oaxaca. Walking (or, here, biking) as my main mode of transportation brings me more in tune with my surroundings; I spend a good deal of time outside, reading or writing in my journal; I have plenty of time for friends and for contemplation of What Comes Next.

(Unfortunately, the similarities to Oaxaca do not extend to an inability to comprehend the language floating all around me, making it more difficult to ignore the whiny children and shouted conversations that seem to have become accepted aspects of coffeehouse culture. )


Foot power as my mode of transportation: Yes, the Saturn is gone; my lease was up at the end of June. I briefly thought about asking whether I could rent it for just a couple more months. But then I thought, um, Why? Why spend all more money I don't have, when everything I really need is really quite accessible from where I am? Bonuses: I can indulge the smug attitude of no longer being part of the carbon footprint problem, and my thighs will be rock hard by the time I leave for Morocco! (Hey, a girl can dream ... )


Been spending a lot of time lately thinking about What I Really Need. Materially, that is. I was so proud of myself for downsizing as I moved out of The Bungalow Formerly Known as Lola. (Aside: What's my deal today with Capitalizing Everything?) I got rid of most of my furniture and sent boxloads off to Goodwill. Yet I was still only barely able to squeeze the material manifestations of my former life into a spare bedroom larger than the average storage locker. What the above photo fails to show is the two rows of boxes, floor to ceiling, behind the miscellaneous detritus. Books, mostly. Books I've either already read or likely never will. To keep them has far more to do with vanity and emotional attachment than with actual need. Maybe that's true of the rest as well?

Then, moving into my temporary digs, thinking I'd really pared down to the nitty gritty -- only the things I'd really need for the next two months. Even so, that came down to about a dozen boxes and a couple of suitcases. A dozen boxes for two months? Really? Well, no -- not really. Most of it is already stowed in a back closet. Much of the rest is dribs and drabs of toiletries that don't really do anything. And then there's the dishes and glassware I inexplicably keep breaking -- that'll really cut back on the need to repack.

Maybe it's all practice for the next step: two bags for the next two years in Morocco. Even then, from what I hear via former Peace Corps vols, much of what you bring ends up never leaving the suitcase.

Or maybe it's all practice for moving on in life ... paring down, offloading the no longer necessary in favor of what's really important. A life well-lived needn't be proved by overaccumulation.

A friend yesterday was telling about visiting an antiques store overstuffed with ... stuff. Not antiques, just stuff. Old shot glasses, action figures, Wheaties boxes.

"What do you collect?" the woman behind the counter asked. Shocked she was to find out my dear friend doesn't have rows of bobbleheads or spoons or commemorative plates holding up the

"Memories," I told my friend. "Next time, say you collect memories."

Quote of the day:

“The curse of the human race is not that we are so different from one another, but that we are so alike.” – Salman Rushdie, “The Enchantress of Florence”

Leaving Lola.

Tomorrow I sign away my little bungalow. And just when all my little planting projects are finally coming to fruition! Those roses on the drainpipe are blooming for the first time in the three years I've lived here.

Lola has been a dear friend to me. I'll miss her ... but I'm ready to move on.

What I'll miss:

My backyard oasis ... sipping High Life on the patio, surveying my domain of salvia and penstemon, hostas and honeysuckle, monitoring the comings and goings of bunnies and crows, polka numbers seeping up from the Antelope Park bandshell, alone with my laptop or laughing with good friends.

Mowing the lawn.

Showering. (New digs are lovely and serendipitous but set up for baths only.)

On-call Internet.

My sunny yellow walls.

Getting my hands in the dirt ... weeding or finding space for just one more plant.

Lazy Saturday afternoons on the front porch, rocking on the swing while Miz Amy smokes on the steps.

Being surrounded by books I love.

The backyard parties -- pinatas, broken hoes and all.

What I won't miss:

The constant screech and whine of the Baptist brats next door.

Mowing the lawn.

The monthly mortgage.

The sad little things that needed attention I couldn't afford to give -- leaky faucets, peeling paint,

Where I'm headed:

I'm blessed to have a lovely new home to settle into, even if temporarily. Thanks to the Subversive Bookstore Maven!

Come tomorrow, no more Internet at home*. Come June 29, no more car. But I have everything I need: a badass bike and two strong legs to power it; an expansive front porch from which to survey a whole new neighborhood; a box of books, and another of wine; a portable iPod sound system; big ideas and dear friends to keep me company over the next two months.

*Read: No more obsessive emailing or blog/Facebook/MySpace posting! So don't panic if you no longer hear from me 1,000 times a day ... getting online will mean hauling ass to a coffee shop or my brother's house. Or figuring out how to use a phone card. If anyone can enlighten me on that, let me know ...)

Quote of the day:

"Not knowing how near the truth is, we seek it far away." – Hakuin

(from a returned Peace Corps volunteer ... interesting, no?)

"... and the days keep rolling along ..."

1.

One little snippet of Peace Corps news: I've already received my dental clearance! My dad (who's also my dentist) will be so proud.

That's the easy, and speedy, part of PC medical approval. Don't expect to hear anything else anytime soon.


2.

Don't you love those episodes when it seems as if the universe sends you exactly what you need exactly when you need it? They sneak in, overshadowing the far vaster series of moments in which things just don't work out that way.

Last week, my real-estate agent came by to talk about selling my house. The short story: Thanks to a flattened market, a bit of financial recklessness on my part (actually using a home-equity line I was strong-armed into at the point of purchase), the brief time I've owned the place and -- mostly -- the realtor fees, right now I would get back about 40 percent of my down payment. I spent the rest of the day in a state of shock.

The next day, I ran into a friend/coworker in the ladies' room. "I dreamt of you last night," she said. "I dreamt that instead of selling your house, you rented it to my brother instead."

I hadn't wanted to even consider renting instead of selling ... didn't want to worry about what I couldn't possibly control/manage from half a world away. But if I were to rent, said brother is one of about half a dozen people I can actually envision inking a deal with. A master carpenter with a proven devotion to older homes. Hmmm...

If that doesn't work out, another possibility emerges. My sister-in-law says her mother is contemplating buying a few rental properties, with sis-in-law acting as property manager. Her mom's a lawyer, so we could avoid the realtor fees.

And if that doesn't work out, a couple of other trustworthy friends have expressed interest. I'm encouraged enough to feel sure that, one way or another, I won't lose what's left of my life savings.

Truth is, even the worst-case scenario would be worth the life change to me. I suppose that says everything.


3.

As if I weren't hemorrhaging money enough, I had an epiphany of my own last week. I've been dreading the thought of having to wear glasses for the next two years -- they're clunky and accident-prone, and I don't see with them nearly as well as with contacts. Yet I understand why PC frowns on contacts -- sanitary safety would be, at best, difficult to maintain.

Wouldn't it be great, I thought one morning as I woke and squinted to read the 2-inch LCD letters six inches from my face, if I could just suddenly acquire 20-2o vision?

So I've made an appointment for a Lasik consultation. Not sure I'm a good candidate, but I think it's worth looking into. If you have a Lasik story to share -- good or bad, yours or your SO's or your brother's friend or sheer rumor -- bring it on.

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Currently reading: "The Village of Waiting," by George Packer

Currently hearing: "Life is Sweet," Maria McKee