Two of Me

Just hand me those gold hoop earrings, please, the flowery “diklo” kerchief for my head, and (oh yeah) that long, pleated, multi-layered skirt with purples, greens and oranges. AND don’t forget the puffed-sleeve blouse with the low-cut neckline. There. That should do it. The old-lady-gone-youthful-gypsy look.

We were in Buck Creek for several days, where the house continues its remodel metamorphosis – and I wondered if, and how, I could fit, even after living there for 29 years. The recently completed heavy-duty jobs have yielded amazing results, thanks to the hard work of our younger son and one of our sons-in-law. But the to-do list still looms long, and there are plenty of decisions and hours of work ahead of us. Do I dare invest myself in this place any longer? Realistically, how can I…and yet how can I not? Have I moved on at some deep level already, or am I still actually rooted there? As our older son said recently, “That place gets under the skin of everyone who lives there.”

This evening we’re back at the lake house, and I’m feeling that romanticized gypsy-ness again. Where DO I belong? Either place. Or both. Or, hypothetically, neither. I keep telling myself that real gut-level belonging has less to do with location and more to do with inner orientation – but it sure would be nice to just settle down somewhere. I’m not a very good nomad, it seems. And yet the desert-wandering experience, like Israel’s Exodus journey, is definitely a time for introspection and character-building.

I’m currently reading Frank Peretti’s The Oath, a chiller of a mystery story with characters as wild and crazy and unpredictable as any gypsy. In fact, they make my life look stale in comparison. (Books like Peretti’s are sometimes a good reality check.) Still, I’m more than ready to chuck the ruffled skirts and pointy-toed slippers and get back to jean shorts and flip-flops. That’s the real me. And I think I’ll be as happy as a pig in mud when, someday, I can live in just one state, in just one house, and mow just one lawn, and attend just one church - and the traveling gypsy phase is history. On the other hand, I’m reminding myself to savor the moment, and enjoy the diversity of bouncing back-and-forth. Not everyone gets to live dual lives during a single life span.