Ever seen one of those shipwrecked movies? You know how part of the doomed ship is always broken up on the reef some distance from shore, and how the survivors, during the first week or so after the shipwreck, paddle out to it to get supplies. Well, that is what it feels like here these days.
The jagged leftover of boat is our apartment. Located only a mile from where the house stands, with just one red light separating, the apartment has lots of little stuff: remaining toys, kitchen equipment, detergents, shoes, etc. For the most part, we've hauled the necessities to shore, but, still, we are paddling out through the surf to get more before the waves pound the hull into bits and it is permanently lost to us.
The house itself is like a rough hut on a lonely beach. We aren't sure where things are; everything is in a different place--scattered. Sometimes you look for something only to discover it is in some box or hasn't made it from the apartment. We're missing the kid-important DVR remote. Also, as of this morning, our washer and dryer haven't made it, nor have the bookshelves. We're castaways, carving out a new life.
1 comment:
Love the description! We just moved last month and can identify with a lot of the stuff you and L have been writing about. Congratulations on the new house!
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