Living Large in Limbo

 We're fast approaching the end of what has felt like, these past few weeks, living large in limbo.

What would be typical in late January, as we approached leaving for Florida (and some sunshine, please, Lord, some sunshine!), is preparatory work for buttoning up the house.  Stopping the paper (yes, we still get a paper copy every day).  Forwarding the mail.  Ensuring electrical devices are unplugged, setting timers.  Eating down so that little to nothing remains in the refrigerator and pantry.  Final load of laundry.

With the onset of the house going on the market, however, prep works includes stripping the house down to its bare bones.  Painting, sanding floors, removing virtually all shreds of ourselves from walls and shelves.  Voices echo in emptied rooms.

When my eyes catch sight of an item that hasn't been moved to storage, I ask myself what it's doing there.  Is it going to Florida with me?  And if so, why isn't it in the oversized Panera bag into which I've been dropping the "need this in Florida" items.  Will it be used for staging?  Didn't I want to donate that to PROP, our local thrift store?  And then, at the least, a tinge of sadness as I glance around the room that more and more is feeling less and less like my house.  Living large in limbo.

As I put away clean clothes yesterday, I was momentarily tempted to begin packing for Florida, then demurred.  Packing is for the day before we leave, with the intent being that will be the final farewell.  Yes, we'll be back in this house and with the market, as I've written before, who knows whether it will sell as anticipated.  I could be hauling everything out of storage back to 15703 Boulder Creek Drive, yet I doubt it.  New address TBD.  

This aspect of living large in limbo, the new address TBD, has begun to creep up like dirty shorts, as my husband might say.  The familiarity of the neighborhood, the to and from routes I drive, seeing the wild turkeys every day, hang over my soul with melancholy.  Naturally there will be joy and excitement in the discovery of everything new associated with TBD, but there also, for me, needs an exploration and appreciation of grief with the remains of the days.  

So while in my previous post, I indicated TBD was not getting my undies into a bundle, I've taken the liberty of changing my mind in response to shifting emotions.  That's the great thing about saying something out loud.  You get to hear how it sounds in the real world, not just in your head.  If you speak it to others, there's your opportunity to see how it "plays in Peoria," how they respond to what you're claiming as honest, real and true--at least for the time being.  My friends and family wonderfully gifted me with plenty of room to acknowledge this shift could, and would, in fact be difficult, as much as I say, "I can figure it out.  We'll see."

A common, non-religious definition of limbo is a state of uncertainty, an intermediate or transitional state.  For the past month, that aptly describes what life has felt like to me.  Some stability will return once we head south.  I've already checked out the activities schedule at the YMCA of the Suncoast.  Although we're not returning to the same property we rented the past few years, I'm familiar with where we will be staying this winter and have spent time visualizing myself there and all the ancillary endeavors that make up day to day living.  Doing so is comforting, soothing, like the sound of the waves.  We'll still be living large in limbo until a contract is signed, sealed and delivered on 15703 as well as whatever TBD turns out to be.  I can figure it out.  We'll see.