Back to Reality

I am beginning to settle in.

At first everything felt alien and I dashed from one job to another in the manner of hummingbirds or dragonflies, but faster, more erratically, like the skittering water bugs Kenya loves so much. Everything I touched led to another detour, another convoluted path. No task was simple. I had to perform three others before I could attack that one. I felt a bit like my granddaughter who informed me as she tidied her room that she needed me to stay with her " because I always became distracted, Oma."

Part of the problem was that it was hot and sunny and I didn't want to waste swimming and kayaking weather, but I was also being driven by the knowledge that winter was coming and I had to get the porch weatherproofed and ready to receive my supply of wood. I had to arrange with the plumber and electrician to install the boiler and set up the generator. I was also worried about the piled-up bills I needed to figure out and pay. I also had to stock up on food, make wine and go to a medical appointment at the Riverside.

Thursday night Kenya was driven by anxiety attacks that sent her onto my bed, and off again, and took her downstairs and outdoors. When I finally figured out that her craziness was caused by the wind and closed all the windows, she settled down and went to sleep for the night. It took me a little longer to get back to sleep.

When you consider the places I have spent all my nights for two months and compare them to my own supremely comfortable bed here at the lake, it is surprising that I have been more prone to insomnia here than anywhere else. I have slept in motel rooms, guest rooms, on an eight year old's bed, on a sponge on the floor, and in a tent. In many of the places I had to adjust to foreign noises like traffic or aircraft or ATVs, and, in one, the screeches of raccoons making lusty love or war a few feet from my bed. And yet, everywhere, I slept the sleep of the innocent.

On the one hand I feel more peaceful and at home here than anywhere I have been this summer, but everywhere I stayed I was part of a family unit and could relax my guard at night, safe in the knowledge that I was not alone. Perhaps, too, I was comforted by the knowledge that my life and its responsibilities were on hold until I returned home; that there was no point in worrying about such things as preparing for winter or fussing about financial concerns beyond my control, so I could push them aside.

I have also been doing a lot of thinking about my close neighbour who has been diagnosed with cancer and is very ill. Her first surgery was unsuccessful and she faces a battle with chemo and radiation before they will try again.

In fact I have been more concerned about her health than about my own. I had a biopsy done yesterday. It was a painful procedure, and not pleasant, but, despite the serious manner of the specialist, not fear inspiring. I seem to live in a kind of bubble regarding cancer. I think I am so sure I will be killed by heart attack or stroke like everyone on my mother's side, or by something going wrong with my digestive system like my father and my oma, that I can't even imagine that it will be cancer that gets me.

And besides, I am not afraid of dying. For a very long time I have contemplated the inevitable with equanimity. Of course it has always been in the abstract. I am not so sure that I would cope as well with the information that I had a cancer that required months of chemo and radiation; and that my chances of survival were only 30% if I subjected myself to the pain, weakness and nausea associated with the treatment. I can't even imagine facing all of that alone up here in the woods living my hermit's life with my dog.

At any rate, I am now back in the real world. My nomadic summer is behind me and my life at the hermitage resumes.

I need to settle in a bit more before I can write about my long vacation from life. I put 6000 kilometres on my little old car, and subjected Kenya to more experiences than she was comfortable coping with, but I discovered things I would never have learned staying here at the lake where we are both comfortable.