The movers will arrive in an hour to pack up our little gray house. I should be doing something, anything, other than sitting here typing. But here I sit, with one last cup of tea and chocolate chip muffin. I feel tired even before the day begins, this past week a whirl of graduations and goodbyes and hours spent on taking inventory of every single item in our home. Please stop me the next time I want to buy something just because it’s cute. After attempting to fill in the forms with estimated values for every piece of clothing we own (why so many socks, people?), we decided in our sleep deprived stupor–we are never, ever, ever, moving again.
Yesterday, I ran my six-mile loop in the hills and forest. I haven’t run that far in a long time, and as I ran I thought of all the months I spent training for races on that same loop, back and forth, every Saturday morning. I huffed and heaved my way up and down those hills for miles, and I swear it was uphill both ways. My legs ached in the good way muscles do when they remember what they’re made for, how they’ve already carried this body across so many miles. I told a friend I feel nervous about an upcoming race this fall, and she said, Don’t worry, your muscles remember. I think she’s right.
My muscles remember how they burned with exertion all the way up the hills and their loosey-goosey feel on the way down. They remember this gray house and how it cradled me, how it held me close and kept me warm during winter storms, how it fed me on the life taking place beneath its roof. They remember how the sun streamed through the windows and warmed my back as I wrote, the scent of the spring peonies blooming in the garden, the sound of kid-sized feet pounding up and down the stairs in a weekday frenzy. My body remembers.
We spent our final night in our bedroom with its view of Zurich nestled at the top of the lake, and as I burrowed down beneath the sheets, I listened to the house breathe its night sounds. I sighed deep, content. I let this house cocoon me and lull me to sleep one last time, and I stored one last memory of how it held me.
How and what are you remembering as we turn the corner into summer?