“You might have to move straight into assisted living.” It was Harriett’s introductory line to the New Year. It’s just as well I appreciate her sense of humor or I might sink deeper into my state of depressed frustration. Though frustration, as my art teacher used to say, is a sign that we’re just starting to have fun. I would throw him my dirtiest look of disgust in lieu of my sculpting tools. Maybe what I have is deprestation or fruspression because one thing is sure; frustration and depression certainly do not meld well together.
My New Year’s Eve was my usual exercise in solitude with good food and my tarot cards and rune stones. It’s a sign of age or perhaps wisdom that I called most of the people I would want to wish a happy New Year well before the midnight hour. The rest will be called or emailed on this not so auspicious beginning day of 2010.
I was in my red, plaid pajamas and fluffy blue bathrobe by 8:30pm. I reheated left over crab imperial and stuffed flounder from John’s Broiled Seafood Platter from the night before and declared that my reconstitution of it was better than the original. I had some lemon Italian soda to wash it down and a Harry and David’s dark chocolate truffle for afters. These are the good things about my New Year’s Eve.
The fact that I sat surrounded by piles of packing boxes and assorted debris from the past 15 years of my life was the not so good thing. In my world, and I was pretty sure it was not in my imagined world, I was going to move into a new to me townhouse just after Thanksgiving. It didn’t happen. I was not too perturbed, frustrated but not too ruffled, Christmas was coming and it would be the perfect time to move. I would have the whole vacation to move out of one place and into another. Christmas came and went, New Year came and is now yesterday and still I have not moved.
There is a whole cast of characters and back-story to this saga. Gx is the buyer to be. He owns the house next door, which burned down back in May and is now being rebuilt. He and I use the same bank, which shall for a brief moment remain nameless. This bank would not lend him any more money to buy my house so he has a relative, Jy, who is the financial front for his investment. She is somewhat ambivalent about the whole project because the deal has been an on and off affair since the beginning of October. She went walk-about over Christmas and so it became a “what-the-hell-is-going-on?” affair. This is where the depression started to set in.
I know when it is depression because the mess around me starts to grow exponentially, dirty dishes seem to reproduce in the kitchen sink, dust balls sprout legs and wander the house looking for suitable places to develop new towns, I am unable to remember any of the sixty two things I have to do even though I have them written on four lists, and the chocolate stains on the fluffy, blue bathrobe begin to look like a polka dot pattern. A small, dirty grey rain cloud hovers above my head like the proverbial Pig-Pen and I don’t want to contemplate the dark side of the what-ifs like what if this deal falls through and I lose the deal on the house I am buying? Suicide by chocolate and a rusty butter-knife with a Santa handle.
Matt my realtor called several times between Christmas and New Year. It’s a good news, bad news scenario. Jy has been found. She has signed the papers. The extension is good until December 31st. Rick, my mortgage broker, calls. He has been working on a new loan for me. It is going to save me thousands of dollars. The delay is a good thing he assures me. I like Rick but the good news doesn’t feel all that good. I provide him with yet another forest of papers the bank needs me to sign to assure them that I have not taken out new credit, bought a new car or wardrobe of clothes, will not default on my student loans or be late paying them or anyone else ever again, amen. I like Rick, he works hard to save me money and even harder at trying to reassure me that all will be well but even he is not so sure any more when I mention Gx’s name. We both know this is a sketchy sounding deal.
I light my Himalayan salt candle and waft the feel good ions around my face and spotted blue bathrobe. I spread the white muslin cloth line with green beads over the fold away table I purchased after selling my beautiful dining table and chairs. I have cleaned and polished my Lakshmi and Ganesh icons and set them to oversee this New Year’s ritual. Themis is the Goddess card I choose.
“Oh Lord no.” I turn over the Emperor card smack in the middle. He’s pompous and rigid and the second to last card I want to see in my New Year’s throw. At least he is facing right – not quite so bad. I go through the Mother Peace throw and the rune stones. “That’s pretty good,” I muse as I contemplate the Magician and the Moon and the Ace of Wands. Lot’s of energy and indications of movement with just a few stumbles.
The stones are all about movement, new dwelling places, and more movement.
“Could it be this propitious?” Apparently not. The last stone, Othila in reverse cautions me that I must wait for the Universe to act. Didn’t mention Gx but that could be him there in the Emperor’s guise. I’ve been waiting for the Universe to act since putting my house on the market more than a year ago, been waiting for this contract to come to fruition since the beginning of October and now we are in a new year. How much longer will I have to wait?
I am assured that the outcome will be certain but not predictable. Maybe I will go straight into assisted living.
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