Apparently, I’m in need of some comfort. Like the big vat of macaroni and cheese kind. Everyone knows moving is stressful. I guess I just underestimated how stressful. As a friend commented, I kind of leapt off the edge of a tall cliff and just naturally expected to fly. (Well, yeah.)
As is the way, things didn’t go exactly as planned. Mom is still back at the beach until the house sells. And I’ve realized – I haven’t lived farther away than down the street from her in close to ten years. Sure, she drives me crazy, but now I miss her. And I haven’t lived away from the beach in about 23 years. That’s a long time to be a part of a community. Now I’m part of a new community. I’ve almost forgotten how to do this. Almost.
You see, I’m out of my comfort zone. And I did it to myself. Deliberately. I wanted to shake things up. Well, if you’ll pardon the grammar – they’re shook.
So, I’m taking comfort where I can and deciding I’m okay with that. Food is a big one. I didn’t realize how big until one of two friends in the building (another huge comfort) drove me to Fresh Market. I’m not a fan of the Publix right across the street. It’s small, the aisles are narrow and they don’t carry all the things I’m used to. But, Fresh Market? Hello comfort! Ready-made meals galore! Perfect for me. It wasn’t until I’d consumed an entire container of coconut macaroons and salad the size of a large pizza that I thought maybe food wasn’t the healthiest comfort.
Routine is a comfort. And Frankie makes sure I’m comfortable in that. He’s adjusting to living in an apartment. Training his bladder if you will. We go down around 7:00, 12:00, 4:00 and 9:00 and two of those are walks around Memorial Park. We’re getting to know the locals. Just the other day a woman introduced herself and said she always sees us walking. Dogs are fantastic ice breakers.
I’ve also found comfort in unusual places. Like towels. I’ve had Mom bring the mismatched, broken-in ones from home instead of the plush new ones that actually match my bathroom but just seem to push water around instead of absorb it.
And who knew regular old body wash worked like a familiar security blanket? Trying to be more natural and green, I’d switched to one without a particularly lathering, potentially toxic ingredient. Now I sit in the shower feeling all responsible and moral while I could be luxuriating in moisturizing bubbles that smell like a fresh mountain spring. I’m switching back. I want my bubbles. Plus, I’m pretty sure I can smell myself at the end of a day. There will be plenty of time to make the eco-friendly choice later. And make my bathroom pretty. And say no to cookies. For now, I’m flapping my arms as fast as I can.