And so it ended in much the same way as it began: a car load of belongings, an evening spent at my sister's house, snuggles with her dog.
Back in August, I brought the first car load of stuff to the DC area. Yesterday, I brought the last car load back to our North Carolina house.
Back when I applied for seminary housing, in March of 2022, I thought I would be in my seminary apartment for 2 years or more. Back when I applied for seminary housing, I didn't have a house at Lutheridge, and I didn't know that there were plans for the bulldozing of seminary housing.
As I drove yesterday, I thought back and wondered if I would make different plans then, if I knew then what I know now. In a way, it's a ridiculous question. If I had a time machine, I hope I would go back to the days when Apple teetered on the brink of bankruptcy; I hope I would buy the ridiculously cheap stock, which I could then sell later. I'd buy a few shares of Starbucks, a tiny coffee company that nobody except for a few people, like my mom, knew about when she bought her shares for $12 a share.
In short, yes, I might rethink every decision I've ever made, if I had the advantage of knowledge gained in hindsight. But then again, I might not. Those alternate decisions would also come with good and bad consequences.
For part of yesterday's drive, I did not have the mental space for these kinds of musings. Part of the drive took me on a detour that might have been scenic, if it hadn't been so foggy. As I drove towards Harper's Ferry, I saw a sign that said "All lanes closed in Virginia" with a street name. I was approaching the branch that went towards Leesburg, Virginia, so I hoped the sign was talking about that road. I thought that I had miles and miles to go before I was in Virginia, so I'd get through the Harper's Ferry bridges, which always make me a touch nervous, and then see what was on the other side.
But it was the road between the two bridges that was closed. I followed the detour signs, up the steep and winding road, and then down into fog. Happily, there weren't many cars on the road with me, and it was just before dawn, so it wasn't as pitch dark as it would have been at other times of the year.
Still, the fog made the descent towards the Shenandoah River an intense experience. It felt like I was driving into the void, which sometimes seems like a metaphor for life: it feels like driving into the void, but the road is there, and if one proceeds with some amount of caution, one isn't likely to go over the bridge into the river below.
Do I want to stretch this metaphor into the wisdom of leaving early? Do I want this metaphor to consider the other drivers on the road or the chance that the bridge may have fallen into the river?
The fog continued for the first several hours of the journey, and I was happy that I was travelling on a Sunday morning with fewer drivers than some of my trips. I was astonished by how many cars on the road didn't have lit headlights. Why wouldn't you help other drivers see you? Here, too, the potential for life metaphor abounds.
As the fog cleared, I tried to take some pictures through the car window. It was strange to see the Appalachians looking so Hawaiian in their deep greens and clouds drifting by. But I didn't really capture any of it. I loved watching the mountains shift from emerald greens to dark blues and grays as the light shifted through the morning.
Happily, my trip was fairly uneventful, and I pulled into my driveway to discover much construction work had been done in my 2 day absence--how wonderful to have an electrician in the family, family who was willing to extend the trip to see the youngest brother graduate.
We headed over to Hendersonville, where many of the cute shops were closed, but we had fun looking in the windows. We ate at a Thai-Sushi place that wasn't too busy for Mother's Day. It was a good end to a great week.
We have hugged the last group of family and sent them on their way, with hopes we might see them sooner rather than later. Now it is time to focus on this week's tasks: kitchen cabinets arrive tomorrow, and online classes start. Let the work begin.
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