I moved four weeks ago. Everything arrived intact. Most of the pictures have been unwrapped and a few have found their place on the walls. One box remains to be emptied. Even with all my culling over the course of four moves, I still have too much stuff, too many artifacts.

Two drawers in the large hutch that is itself an artifact are filled with relics of various vintages. There is the green shot glass from which my mother would sip her brandy. There is the menagerie of red-accented white animals that glowed in the dark beside my bed when I was a little girl. I’ve long suspected that they emitted some sort of deadly radiation (it was the fifties, after all) but I’m still here so perhaps not. There’s a small white bowl, made from the remains of an artist friend. All of us who went to her memorial service were offered this literal piece of her to take home. Two metal horses, one plastic one with a missing hoof. A glass dog and a china puppy. Feathers collected when I lived in a canyon in California. Stones from the Northwest. My mother’s Rolodex, with the contact info of long-dead Hollywood and Broadway luminaries.

I don’t feel like I’ve landed quite yet. Perhaps because this is the fourth move in two years, it has a faintly surrealistic quality. Both the tedium and the stress of packing, as well as its counterpart on this end, are too familiar. Each time, I made the best decision in the circumstances and I don’t think that any of the moves were “wrong” or a mistake. They were necessary steps on the journey. I am grateful that I didn’t run out of steam along the way and remain where I was because I was too daunted by the thought of relocating yet again.

Now that I’m here, not quite prepared to say this is it (because after all, at this age, there is no way to know what will be next), my supply of steam is greatly depleted. The devastating climate change we’re all dealing with contributes to the exhaustion. In the northeast, it’s showing up as weeks of heat and oppressive humidity, punctuated by the thunderstorms that seem to appear out of nowhere, storms that have a ferocity that feel like the terrifying anger of a parent who has run out of patience with a recalcitrant child. 

And then there’s the political danger we are in. When thirteen presidential libraries issue a joint statement calling for a “recommitment to the country’s bedrock principles, including the rule of law and respecting a diversity of beliefs,” we are in some trouble. Yes, it’s a positive sign that they are speaking out and I am doing my best to hold on to hope.

In the months following my move to upstate New York last year, I became aware that, yes, I had come to the right state but my guidance system had dropped me in the wrong spot. I think I’ve found it now in this apartment beside the Hudson River.

So, while this is not a time to make assumptions about a peaceful future, for myself or the planet, I have work to do, friends to make, a life to build. And I’m home.

Photo by Ruth Neuwald Falcon

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15 Comments

  1. Oh Ruth, you may not remember me as we haven’t seen each other in many years. The first time we met, it was at this time of year back in 2012. I had just moved to Edmonds from Canada, and a friend took me to high Holidays services where you were filming. I am expressing this very awkwardly, as there is no way for me to know how you feel after all these years. All this to say that we both share the chaos and excitement of looking for and finding “home”. It hasn’t happened for me yet, I rejoice that it feels like it has for you. May this new year be filled with many sweet blessings for you, Shana Tova, Natasha

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    1. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts on your latest move, dear friend. Your courage seems to energize you even though you do get tired, Ruth. The details of the contents of your cabinet are just fascinating and I read them aloud to Don who appreciated them, too! Best wishes to you. Please continue writing as your life moves forward.

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  9. Dear Ruth, I can’t imagine doing those moves. I hope you can stop now and breathe and enjoy your new home. Also courageous of you to move on to the place that felt right. Blessings for a sweeter year.

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  10. I’m so happy to see and read your post. May your new home on the Hudson fill you with peace and happiness this New Year. Thinking of you, always, with love. ❤️

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  13. Wishing you such a sweet and homey New Year, Ruth! Your vivid writing is both poignant and inspiring, so full of your heart and soul. Thank you for these deep glimpses into your here and now, and so glad to hear that this one feels like home. (It turns out that the Jewish community I consider home now, Lab/shul, is based in NYC! There is a strong commitment & connection to the “digital partners” like me ☺️)

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  14. Hi Ruth, So good to hear from you. It has been a while and I am pleased to know you have moved to your apartment along the Hudson River. And what a view!!! Having your pictures up on the wall makes it feel like home. I do sympathize with you about the artifacts that followed to the new place. I am sure the little panda bear is grateful to still have a home and share it with the little pink pig that helped to find this apartment. Happy New Year, Ruth. A “virtual” toast to new beginnings. I am excited to hear about what unfolds for you in the coming year – may it be for blessing and fantastic !!!

    Schmode

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