The Gift of Interruptions
A little more than a week ago, my three year old came home from pre-school and said he wanted to wear his pajamas inside-out and flush ice down the toilet so that it would snow. Curse words flashed in my mind. I grabbed my phone and pulled up the forecast.
No. No. No. NO.
At that moment, our dining room was stacked with boxes, packed and ready for the cross-town move we’d been planning since Christmas. Everything was lined up and ready to go: the movers, the utilities, the internet and television installation. My in-laws generously offered to keep children while we packed the final remnants of our life in East Nashville. The movers were supposed to come on Tuesday. But the forecast told a different story. Sunday, temperatures dropped to well below freezing and my mother-in-law asked me to send the kids with snow-bibs, boots, gloves and hats. I gazed at the towers of boxes and laughed.
Which one of those boxes has their snow-bibs, boots, gloves and hats?
Moving is not fun in the best of circumstances. In 1995, when my family moved from Texas to Virginia, our parents took my sisters and me to the mall and said we could pick out any toy we wanted. (They called it a moving gift, but now that I am a parent I understand this was pure bribery, plain and simple.) I picked a fluffy marionette that looked like a skinny, pink Snuffleupagus. The fishing-line strings were tangled by the time we made it to the Beltway. When I woke, I saw a two-story house with white vinyl siding, and said “Is that the White House?”
In the end, the moving company postponed by 48 hours, school as cancelled for a week, and the WiFi was unceremoniously turned off, because we were already supposed to have vacated the property. Is there anything in this life that is not an ordeal?
I know I wasn’t the only person struggling during last week’s snow storm. The flu was running rampant. Cars got stuck in ditches. People got stuck on tarmacs waiting on airplanes that never took off. Working parents had to resort to group playdate-slash-work parties in order to get anything done. More than one friend has mentioned that last week’s forced hibernation brought back terrible memories of Covid.
How did we do that? How did we survive? Winter forces us to remember those hard-learned lessons from 2020. Whatever control we think we wield over our lives is in fact, a delusion. Everything can grind to a halt in an instant. And in place of our plans, we receive (if we’re open-handed) a different set of gifts along with the unforeseen circumstances.
The snow was beautiful and quiet. I could hear kids squealing on our street, throwing snowballs, dragging sleds, pushing their arms out to their sides to leave behind an imprint of an angel. The delay gave us two more days with neighbors we love and will miss dearly. We used our wood-burning fireplace, listening to the oak crackle and pop. Three-foot icicles shimmered from every gutter.
Four days into the storm, a team of seven intrepid movers showed up to our doorstep, ready to tackle the job despite the cold. I wanted to kiss them. (I didn’t.)
Did the moving trucks get stuck, skidding out on the road? Yes, they did. With all our earthly belongings held inside the hull of the van, all four tires spun out, unable to move forward or backward. Well, I thought, watching from inside the house, nothing I can do about it.
We’re here now, in the new house, on the other side. There are still boxes lingering. Trash in every corner. Furniture without a home. But we’re here.
Interruptions — delays — inconvenient timing — pandemic PTSD — all this reminds me that I am not in charge here. I have no idea what happens next. With a certain perspective, this truth can lead me to release a deep sigh of relief. I am not in charge here. The seven movers left the van parked diagonally on the road, came inside to get warm and eat a mountain of Chik-fil-A sandwiches. Later, the neighbors came out, each with an offering. A few pieces of dry wood. A scrap of rubber. Something on which the tires could gain traction. This, too was a gift.
There’s nothing like a crisis to bring out the new neighbors.
Recent Favorites
Purchase — Cordless Lamps. I love waking up early, when it’s still dark, and keeping the house lights low. When we moved to the new house, I realized there were a few dark corners that needed some extra light (so I could see enough to make myself a cup of coffee). These cordless lamps are battery-operated, rechargeable, and offer three different light settings with a simple tap of the finger. Love them!
Watch — American Fiction (in theaters!). It’s Oscar season, which usually doesn’t mean much to me, but when I started hearing buzz from my writer friends about this movie, I knew I wanted to see it in theaters. It follows the story of Monk, an established writer whose literary books are falling out of favor, and whose agent is having trouble selling his latest manuscript. Monk is Black, and he’s troubled by what he feels is pandering in the publishing industry — publishing “Black” stories that only perpetuate certain stereotypes. Filled with rage, he writes a satirical novel that hits every Black trope he can think of — then sends it to his agent as a joke. Turns out, the publishers want it. This movie is funny, heartfelt, and seriously spot-on about the hypocrisy in the publishing industry.
One More Thing…
I have no more things! I am just grateful to be getting settled in our new place, and enjoying the new proximity we have to the things in our life (i.e., school, church, gym). Thanks for your patience for my slow start this year, but I will be back to my regular rhythm, sending a newsletter every-other Monday.
Until then, hope you have a wonderful week!
C
