Settling In

A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Anyone who has sampled my housekeeping would snigger at the idea that I take this proverb to heart. I am not a tidy person, and a cluttered look is the essence of my decorating philosophy.

I do, however, feel, in a visceral way, that things and people have their natural and optimal place. Moving, as I have done recently, triggers a cataclysmic upheaval in the natural order of things and in me.

Well meaning friends, with absolute correctness, advised me not to hurry about unpacking. It is a big job, and it will be completed in time. It is not to stress over.

I know it. I just can't stand the disturbing effects of my things sitting around out of place - God forbid in boxes! For me the art of unpacking and setting up a new household is discovering each object's natural place. The urgency of this task is that until things are in their natural order, the place just doesn't say home to me.

I am persnickity about this, obsessive even. I try to be agreeable and compromise, with G-man obviously, but as soon as my back is turned on the offending placement, I can feel the dislocated object glaring at me with distain. "Fix me," the refrain rings in my ears the live-long day.

Why is this blue bowl just right on the coffee table, and glaringly uncomfortable on the desk? Why doesn't this comfortable chair belong in the den? I can't say. It just isn't right. I feel it somewhere deep in myself. It is similar to my response to the color orange, which causes a disturbance in me at the cellular level. I can feel it, and never, never, never could I live with it.

I seek harmony in this process, and harmony and serenity is what comes of allowing the right order to reveal itself. It is not, unfortunately, always the same placement of objects as in our previous home.

We are nearly there. I hear my things humming with satisfaction as I walk through the house. It feels like home - almost. There are those few bits lying around waiting to be served. They are either unhappy in the spot where I think they belong, or sadly, there is no place for them. These I have to give some time. My perception might be slightly out of whack, and I might wake up one morning and see things differently.

I have a strong sense of place for myself as well. I knew this was the right house for us when I saw it. I looked across the bright green yard and into the snug corners inside, and I felt it. The property manager was quite surprised, because she also showed us a sparkling new house that was frankly House Beautiful inside. I appreciated it,  but I said "No, I would not want to live here." I want the little house.

I'm that way about the mountains too. When I arrived the first time, I drew a deep breath and something inside opened and was nourished - the same now that I have returned. We went walking on a Parkway trail yesterday, and with each resonant thump of my walking stick on the packed, rocky trail, something inside me hummed with gratitude. "I'm back. Here is where I live, and it is my true place." Order is restored.