Settling into a routine

This is my 3rd Sunday in ABQ.  Since D is not here to galvanize me into motion towards 1st service, I spend the morning catching up on Facebook and e-mail and LJ.  S has written some hilarious posts regarding Simone's first few days with them.  I laugh out loud, but am not sure if my tears are from laughter or sadness.  I miss them all so much, every day.

The littlest things trigger grief and nostalgia....

• I finish scooping out the carton of cottage cheese and look for Carbon:  one of her joys in life was taking the carton between her teeth and carrying it to a special place, lying down and worrying at it until the last delicious sour milk drop was licked up.  Then she'd leave it in the middle of the room for us to trip over.
• Last night I was reading in bed, and I felt so lonely without her warm bulk pressed against me, her snores and twitches testifying to a satisfying dream life.  The loneliness is intensified because D is in PDX, finishing up packing and business, in between hosting CA friends and going wine tasting.  Usually both pets would be keeping me company in his absence.  
• Small creaking noises make me look for Simone, the usual source of unexplained sounds.  I look for her to come in through the non-existent cat door, for her to be curled up on the couch when I get up, for her to join me during a bout of insomnia.

There's more....

Yesterday the library had its bi-monthly Read to the Dogs program.  On seeing the blonde woman walk by with the perky schnauzer, my first thought is, "Oh shit, my 10th day in training, my first hour as Person In Charge, and I have to deal with illegal dogs."  I go to the desk to find out how this place handles service and non-service animals and then go looking for her.  I finally run her to earth in the story-time room where 3 other dogs are also settled, and I realize it's legit.  Huge sigh of relief:  few things are more challenging than booting a self-righteous dog owner.

From then on my one goal is to get a chance to pet those puppies.  I think back to Lisa, the golden retriever from the HWD RTD program:  she would flop on her side and remain so for the entire 2 hours.  Then she'd come into the staff workroom, owner in tow, and lean against our knees, encouraging our pats and pets and flopping again as we converged upon her.  She would have stayed all day if we had let her.

The RTD coordinator comes to the desk to give us the totals, and I express my earnest desire to meet the dogs.  She says sure, and I start telling J,  my desk partner, about Carbon.  My tears well up again, but I am steadied by J's sympathy and then a gorgeous springer spaniel comes up to me.  Her owner says, "I hear someone wanted a pet?" and I am seated on the floor, cooing over floppy ears and soft fur.

You'd think being in a new place would lessen my yearning for pets and friends.  After all, the routines and spaces they occupied are gone.  I shouldn't have these deja vu moments of grief.  Yes, a cottage cheese carton is a cottage cheese carton, but the rest is totally different.  There should be no memory triggers.

Still, I do find that the new routines are not that new, and the new space is not that unfamiliar.  We now have our second load of possessions in place, so there are familiar paintings and photographs on the walls, the bed and bedside tables are the same, we have the same dishes and clothes.  The things we forgot (how can we live without the knife set?  or the computer speakers?) merely accentuate the familiarity of the rest of our surroundings.  My thoughts go backward, not forward, as I set up my home and routines.   Yes, it's all one big memory trigger:

Sunday, church at 9:30, then an afternoon exploration.  Monday, the day to take care of business.  Tuesday through Saturday, work (the same routines and resources as any public library,  just enough differences to keep me on my toes).  Start the day with a half hour in the fitness center.  Come home to a half hour at the pool.  (Okay, these are new.)  Help with dinner, do dishes, watch TV and knit.  Go to bed and read.

Somewhere in the middle of this, I try to fit in e-mail and business, but I find myself avoiding both.  The Internet is only bringing me grief right now:  there's usually a message from someone telling me that I've dropped the ball or that I owe money or that I'm going to be sued (that's the upstairs renter), or that the house is falling apart or, or, or....  The fun posts on Facebook just make me aware of the fact that I am alone and broke, that I am disconnected from my joy.

However, there is hope.  Today I squared up to the computer and found that I could deal with the ongoing tenant strife and move on to the good stuff.  I didn't fight with D about money during today's phone call.  In the past week I found myself enjoying my commute.  The area is becoming familiar, the roads are not too crowded, and I like what I see.  The Sandia foothills rise above me, beautiful against the big blue sky.  The open spaces and parks and arroyos cut into the subdivisions and strip malls, reminding me that this is the high desert.  I look forward to seeing the arroyos fill with water:  Bear Canyon (Arroyo de Osos) is inches away from us, and I wonder if it can really contain a flash flood.

This is not home yet, but I can see the possibilities.