Time to stop the newspaper, put a "hold" on the mail, clean out the fridge of everything that will expire before mid-June, schedule the lawn guy to cut the grass every couple of weeks, find plant-sitters for the African violets, Norfolk pine, peperomia, fern and Christmas cactus, pack my bags, make a final sweep through the house, set the alarm, close the door. Whew! Transition time again.
From Arkansas to Russia, one last time.
After 7 years of living and working in Russia, Drew and I will be leaving when this school year comes to a close at the Anglo American School of Moscow. Drew has served as director of the school and its St. Petersburg branch since August 2004. I worked at the Moscow school as a 2nd grade teacher and speech-language pathologist for 3 years before starting my back and forth lifestyle, a "jet-setting grandmother," as Drew nick-named me. As tempting as it is to start reminiscing, I'll save that for a few months, trying to remain focused on the present moment, one transition at a time. I wrote about the T-word in one of my previous postings, calling it my least favorite word in the English language. A bit harsh, probably, failing to acknowledge the opportunities for growth, challenging though they may be, which each one has offered me.
When I close the door, pulling two overflowing suitcases behind me, from our home in Moscow or Greenbrier, I feel an acute sadness, a nostalgia for the family, friends and way of life I'm leaving. Part of me wants to stay, part wants to go. I blink back the tears, gather my wits and go through the motions of commute to the airport, check-in, security, and passport control (Moscow). Going through the
motions. . . mundane, mindless, routine tasks which help me begin inching my way from one place to the other.
When I open the door, hopefully pulling both accounted-for suitcases behind me, to our Moscow or Greenbrier home, the same sadness catches up with me, in the stillness, as the door quietly shuts. The tears come again. Part of me wants to be here, part wants to be 5000 miles away. Reaching for a tissue, I unpack, fix a cup of tea, wash a load of clothes, water a plant, take a walk. The simplicity, the familiarity of the actions soothe my spirit, awaken me to the present, rekindle the joy of this home, and remind me that "all will be well," my transition mantra, borrowed from Julian of Norwich. Transitioning may not have prompted this medieval mystic to pen such a reassuring message, but her words echo through the 600 years hence, touching my heart with a calming peacefulness.
Another woman contemplative, a poet and writer, to whom I turn for inspiration is Kathleen Norris. Her slim volume titled, The Quotidian Mysteries, Laundry, Liturgy and "Women's Work," written in 1998, reinforces what I've learned about the deep and abiding value of the "sanctity of the everyday," as she nobly refers to the so-called commonplace in our lives. She writes, . . . "it is in the routine and the everyday that we find possibilities for the greatest transformation." As I move through the daily tasks, my mind and body begin to transform, to adapt, to bridge the transition gap.
Drew and I will have a new opportunity to transition, a New York City one, as he assumes the position as Headmaster at Claremont Preparatory School in July. I arrive in Manhattan tomorrow to begin the process of looking for an apartment. An exciting adventure awaits, where unique experiences will fill our lives. Yet I've come to know that it is in the Everyday where I will find my path, leading to a day when "all will be well," again.
From Arkansas to Russia, one last time.
After 7 years of living and working in Russia, Drew and I will be leaving when this school year comes to a close at the Anglo American School of Moscow. Drew has served as director of the school and its St. Petersburg branch since August 2004. I worked at the Moscow school as a 2nd grade teacher and speech-language pathologist for 3 years before starting my back and forth lifestyle, a "jet-setting grandmother," as Drew nick-named me. As tempting as it is to start reminiscing, I'll save that for a few months, trying to remain focused on the present moment, one transition at a time. I wrote about the T-word in one of my previous postings, calling it my least favorite word in the English language. A bit harsh, probably, failing to acknowledge the opportunities for growth, challenging though they may be, which each one has offered me.
When I close the door, pulling two overflowing suitcases behind me, from our home in Moscow or Greenbrier, I feel an acute sadness, a nostalgia for the family, friends and way of life I'm leaving. Part of me wants to stay, part wants to go. I blink back the tears, gather my wits and go through the motions of commute to the airport, check-in, security, and passport control (Moscow). Going through the
motions. . . mundane, mindless, routine tasks which help me begin inching my way from one place to the other.
When I open the door, hopefully pulling both accounted-for suitcases behind me, to our Moscow or Greenbrier home, the same sadness catches up with me, in the stillness, as the door quietly shuts. The tears come again. Part of me wants to be here, part wants to be 5000 miles away. Reaching for a tissue, I unpack, fix a cup of tea, wash a load of clothes, water a plant, take a walk. The simplicity, the familiarity of the actions soothe my spirit, awaken me to the present, rekindle the joy of this home, and remind me that "all will be well," my transition mantra, borrowed from Julian of Norwich. Transitioning may not have prompted this medieval mystic to pen such a reassuring message, but her words echo through the 600 years hence, touching my heart with a calming peacefulness.
Another woman contemplative, a poet and writer, to whom I turn for inspiration is Kathleen Norris. Her slim volume titled, The Quotidian Mysteries, Laundry, Liturgy and "Women's Work," written in 1998, reinforces what I've learned about the deep and abiding value of the "sanctity of the everyday," as she nobly refers to the so-called commonplace in our lives. She writes, . . . "it is in the routine and the everyday that we find possibilities for the greatest transformation." As I move through the daily tasks, my mind and body begin to transform, to adapt, to bridge the transition gap.
Drew and I will have a new opportunity to transition, a New York City one, as he assumes the position as Headmaster at Claremont Preparatory School in July. I arrive in Manhattan tomorrow to begin the process of looking for an apartment. An exciting adventure awaits, where unique experiences will fill our lives. Yet I've come to know that it is in the Everyday where I will find my path, leading to a day when "all will be well," again.
What fun it is to think about things we all go through, through your eyes. As I have mentioned before when others have asked "are you going home?" I have a hard time placing where home is.... I truly do not know where I should put down as "home." Typically I list Juneau but that is somewhat of a cop out. We have changed and I suspect Juneau has as well. I again applaud your blog and thank you. John
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