I contend that most of life is lived in such a small context — in THIS moment, in THIS room — that it’s much the same everywhere, and nothing here has really challenge that: we eat the same cereal as we always did; the dogs sleep on the same beds; I drive the same car; I still love to soak in the deep tub and hate to chop vegetables. Allan still snores. Anna still forgets to brush her teeth. We’re still vegetarians. People here work too hard, just as they do everywhere, and relax too rarely.

But there are ways in which our life is markedly different. (Whether that’s Savannah living or cul-de-sac living I don’t yet know.) We rattle around in this house, this huge house, devoid of personality but big enough to swallow everything from car keys to my brand-new $500 glasses (grrrr). Anna’s schedule and my schedule are nearly perfectly in sync, while Allan leaves before sunrise and comes home after sunset. Organic is difficult to find and the grocery hasn’t heard of Reed’s, but we’ve had shrimp and grits prepared three different ways.

Our little island has three stoplights, two grocery stores, a handful of restaurants and an Ace. We’re five minutes from school, 20 minutes from the ocean and 15 from downtown. A good day is when I don’t have to drive over a bridge. Everyone says ‘ma’am,’ my heart’s been a hundred times and if I ever carry anything by Vera Bradley, please shoot me.

So, you know. Everything’s the same, and nothing is.

And here we are.

Published in: on December 15, 2011 at 11:37 AM  Leave a Comment  

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