The horse trots up to the fence and suddenly flops down on his back. Is he having a stroke? This is the first thought that pops into my head. But then, he rolls around and pumps his legs like a puppy, before hopping back up and trotting away. What was that? I have no clue. I have no clue about a lot of things lately.
In between house-selling and new-house-buying, my husband and I are hanging out with our daughter and son-in-law for a while at an Airbnb out in the country. A little town in Virginia where our son-in-law is working as a chef on the weekends. The Airbnb has a pond with loud frogs and horses that graze on a hill and sometimes flop around for the heck of it.
What should we do today? When I was home, I had my routine. The same food each morning, coffee and a smoothie. A short walk with the dog. A shift of work at the library. Home and a walk around the neighborhood. Some writing. Dinner and another walk (I am big on the walks.) (I am big on my routine.)
But now everything is up in the air.
The smoothie-maker is packed up who knows where. The library is far away. It’s actually not easy to walk around out here, unless you want to endlessly circle the perimeter of a buggy field. I can’t seem to find my stride. Last week when I was house-sitting for a friend, I couldn’t figure out how to work her TV. The only thing that seemed to want to come on was the show Law & Order.
So I binge-watched Law & Order. It was weird how I kept falling into episode after episode. It’s a comfort thing, my daughter told me.
A crime show? I said. How is that comfort?
It’s called competency porn, she said. You like watching people who know what they’re doing. You like seeing problems get resolved in less than an hour.
This is true. I don’t even have to give it my full attention. I can keep the show on in the background and know that everything is going to work out okay. At least one thing these days is for sure.
Our daughter takes my husband and me to the local farmers' market. It’s like the one at home except we are in a field instead of on a city street. I am instantly at ease. I buy a coffee and a scone. I poke around the plants and the spring greens. The house we are hoping to buy is far away and in a place that is radically different from here, different from home.
But what is home? A smoothie? A walk? A library? Not too long from now we’ll unpack the smoothie maker. Check out the local library, maybe volunteer. Walk a different landscape. Make a new routine. Today, though, I’ll eat another scone.
Forget binge-watching crime shows and instead, carry a book and a blanket up to the fence where the horses graze. Watch as they wander and play.
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