17. Under the Radar

Three weeks ago--barely a month after The Big Move--I flew back to Champaign. Due to a time crunch and a cargo weight issue, we had had to leave some things behind; namely, all of our items for sale (furniture, furniture, furniture, junk), three motorcycles, half of the famed wrought iron fence, and a geriatric Mercedes.  The plan was for all three (four if you count the tail-wagger) of us to return to Illinois over the long Labor Day weekend, take our furniture for sale to the auction house, then my son--whose driver’s permit is good in Illinois and Missouri, but not in Oklahoma--and I would drive the Mercedes back following my husband and the trailer. That was fine, except the Mercedes’s air conditioning had never been fixed, and I was not about to drive from Illinois to Oklahoma in the dog days of summer without AC. At least not voluntarily.

So I cashed in some frequent flyer miles and found an easy flight from Tulsa through Dallas to arrive well before the weekend; my boys would follow at the end of the week. My friend Cyndi picked me up from the airport and let me borrow a pillow, a coffee mug, and some silverware. She was amazed that I had managed to fit a fitted sheet, a blanket, a towel, and my ancient Moka espresso pot into my carry-on. After unearthing a set of mismatched plates, wine glasses, and a funky aluminum egg poacher from the auction pile in the basement, I was fully outfitted to camp--or “glamp”--in my empty house.

My plan had been to visit friends and have a little “mini-vacation” back in C-U for those few days. But once I arrived, it felt odd. What felt like the whole month of July was spent doing tearful, loving goodbyes. We had been thrown goodbye dinners, a goodbye catered party, goodbye happy hours, a goodbye cake reception. There were long hugs, cards and gifts, as if we were setting off into the Gobi Desert, possibly not to be seen or heard from again. And here I was, 29 days and a three-hour flight later, thinking how awkward it would be to just show up at choir rehearsal, or meet someone for coffee like nothing had ever happened. “Uh, hi! I’m back!” Ugh.

So I decided to stay under the radar and get stuff done. I walked around the echoey house, sorting through boxes that had been left behind, throwing things away, breaking down boxes, moving things from the basement to the garage, from the studio to the garage. I went through letters and photos I didn’t have time to go through in July, things my mother had kept. Things I always said I should go through, but never had.

I stocked up on Columbia Street Roastery coffee. I got a haircut from my favorite stylist, Julie (I haven’t dared to find one yet in Stillwater). I tentatively made plans for lunch with friends, dinner with others, but I still felt funny.

Being in my house without all of our things felt strange and sad. My footsteps rang loudly. I tried not to get water all over the bathroom while taking a shower without a shower curtain (kind of like those bathrooms in Europe). I used closet lights and the big light in the hallway at night because there were no lamps. I would have watched a movie in the evening on my iPad, but there was no internet. I did find some candles and lit them out on the porch, sitting in our old crappy chairs in the heat and humidity, since they were the only chairs in the house. I remembered what my friend Pam told me at one of the many goodbye parties, “it won’t feel like home anymore without your stuff and your family in it.” And I cried a little bit, because I realized I wasn’t at home any more. This was no longer my home.

The mechanic had bad news for me on Friday. The car would need a new compressor, and they wouldn’t be able to get a replacement until after the holiday. I would have to stay through Tuesday. I tried to be grateful that my schedule was flexible enough to stay, but I felt restless, almost anxious to leave.

Friday night my crew arrived. Saturday was a grueling haul:  two round trips to the auction house, 25 miles away, with two cars and a trailer full each time. Grandma’s dining table, chairs and buffet along with my parents’ 60s hi-fi and Patrice’s roll-top desk all looked terribly small and insignificant in the center aisle of the huge metal barn. Things, I told myself. They’re only things. My son didn’t seem to mind that we were practically giving away his retro tricycle. And I had to admit a measure of relief when the trailer and vehicles were empty and we were headed into the sunset.

That evening we went to our favorite haunt, the Esquire. We can’t go to the Esquire unnoticed though; we bumped into dear friends Teri and Ania, and had some lovely conversations. Sunday was spent picking up and packing up the pieces. Persimmon enjoyed her old favorite spot on the landing, watching the squirrels and birds, and her doggie crush next door.

And Monday I was once again left all alone.

It was a lonely day with nothing to do but gather up my things, sweep up the dog fur, and clean the little spaces we’d vacated. I tried to get together with one friend, but she was busy and distracted. I thought others would call, but they didn’t. The street was empty and quiet. I went for a walk and could smell others barbecuing, could hear families and friends laughing and talking. I went back home-that-wasn’t-home and moped. Finally, I went to get Chinese carry-out for dinner. I was the only person in the restaurant. Afterwards, I opened my fortune cookie.

I burst out laughing. The universe was subtly making fun of my little pity party. I realized I was acting like the quintessential spoiled only child that I am. What did I expect? That everyone would put down whatever they were doing and pay attention to me? That everyone else would be sad along with me? No, they were just going about their busy lives as normal. As well they should. After all, it was me that wanted to stay under the radar, right?

And lord, if that little piece of paper didn’t predict my good fortune! The next morning after dropping off my car I met my good friend Heidi for a nice long chat over coffee in my favorite café. While waiting for her to arrive, I ran into another friend Rey whom I hadn’t managed to see before we left in July, and we got to catch up. In the afternoon I went to the market and ran into a fellow choir member Linda and her partner Mimi, both of whom are close friends. While talking to them, a former U of I colleague and mentor, Mark, and his wife Mitzi stopped to chat. My friend (and market director) Sarah and I took a selfie. And when I told another friend Joanna that I had to run to catch the bus to pick up my car, she offered to drive me all the way to the other end of Urbana to get it! My cup runneth over. And to cap off a glorious day, Cyndi, the friend who picked me up from the airport invited me over for a fabulous dinner with her family. I enjoyed closing the circle of my visit on such a positive note.

It was with no small measure of gratitude that I set off back to Oklahoma on that hot, sunny Wednesday. I am so lucky, I thought to myself. I have so much. I have wonderful friends. I have all my needs met. I even have air conditioning! I smiled as I pulled onto the highway, heading west.

Of course, the compressor broke down and blew a fuse right before St. Louis, and I spent the next nine hours sweating and swearing and wiping the inside of the windshield in a sudden downpour….but that is a topic for a blog post on another day….