I will find you darling, and i will bring you home

The past few days have seen me being captivated by Anne Tyler's Ladder of Years. I've always loved Tyler's novels because of her ability to provide her readers with beautiful descriptions, not only of people or places, but also of the fundamentals of the human condition.

"It was not that her sadness had left her, but she seemed to operate on a smooth surface several inches above the sadness." (pp.138)

Ladder of Years tells the story of a forty-year old woman, dutiful wife and mother of three children, who impulsively takes off during a family vacation. Wearing only a swimsuit and her husband's beachrobe, she hitches a ride to a small town, rents a room, settles down and quickly establishes a sort of routine.

Halfway through the story, it hit me that i was doing something similar.

I'm "taking a break for the next few months", i tell people who always feel the need to ask me what my post-graduation plans are. It seems as if the concept of a "break" is almost unheard of over here. In September, i leave for Canberra, Sydney and Melbourne, where i will spend time contemplating, clearing my mind and drinking coffee. I will also hopefully meet Charlie and Sandy. I've told my parents that i'll be there for a month but truthfully, i have no idea when i'll be back. Maybe two weeks. Maybe a month. Maybe longer. I will leave when i'm ready. I will leave when i get tired of walking around the city. When i've sat under enough trees with a sandwich in one hand and a book in another. When my heart tells me that it's time to return to this place i call home.

 

Home.

           Discombobulating.

 

This morning, i went to the nearby pool for a swim. After an hour of laps, i came home, had my shower, made myself a cup of coffee, toasted two slices of the walnut loaf, slathered on some "I can't believe it's not butter!" and stood in the kitchen, facing the bright sunlight streaming through the window and reading Living Faith's reflection for the day. It was so enjoyable, so simple- normalcy infused with everydayness.

 

I remained standing there with my coffee in hand, long after the bread was devoured- drinking in simplicity and joy, breathing out fear and sadness and uncertainty.

 

"She would have to rearrange her face and go join them. Any minute now, she would. But for a while she went on sitting there, clutching her homely little lamp and gathering courage." (pp.174)