I will be 35 later this month.
That was painful to type.
Twenty years ago... uh, yup I was 15. I was passionate, I was enthusiastic, I was in shape (how I miss that part), I was clueless.
I was chained to my tiny town and I wanted out. I was 3 hours from anywhere. I was desperate to find dateable guys who didn’t know my dad intimately as their football coach, didn’t know me as my sister’s little sister, and certainly didn't know each other! I wanted to inhale an independent and grown up life that only seemed possible by heading off to college. I was going to exhale the most astonishing, remarkable new version of me. I was going to be—pausing for effect here…..
a scientist.
I didn't want to treat the common cold, I wanted to CURE it. I wanted to know why viruses were viruses and how DNA did all that DNA-ness.
(Well, that’s not nearly as sexy-exciting as it seemed all those years ago, is it?)
I did most of it (no, not the cure part). I had to keep dodging the annoying caffeine-snorting pre-med students, but after 4 years I had a degree in Molecular Biology. I had 3 years experience in a research lab. I also had a husband (and that, my friends, is a story for a ‘whole-nuther’ post). And that husband was off to law school in
We sold everything. Which was the same as nothing. One ratty couch, one air-conditioned-less Toyota Corolla, and a paint-faded
Fast forward a little here. We spent two years way out on
Living closer to family was starting to sound good, VERY good (we sorely wanted to go out on a date or away for a weekend). So we moved “home.” After nine years I had nearly navigated full circle. (Not all the way back to that same tiny town—I wasn’t willing to give up Costco after all.)
By that point I had existed equal parts in the work force and as a SAHM.
Which brings me to now. Nearing 35. Ouch, I said it again.
Enter Barbara Kingsolver and her chickens. Last summer I read—no, ingested ‘Animal, Vegetable, Miracle’. (If you like Kingsolver’s books, this one isn’t fiction but you’ll love it anyway). I loved her writing before, but now she has become my guru. Like her family in her book, I honestly want to try a little back-to-dirt living. Grow a HUGE garden, learn to process and bottle my own preserves, I’d even give a stab at raising chickens. I’ll need a little more land than my current heavily shaded bit of suburbia. And how do you learn about chickens (maybe put my research background to work)? And….
Oh jeez. Am I thinking about moving to the country? If I had chickens and my own preserves, maybe I wouldn’t need Costco. But for the next twenty years? Hard to imagine given the circle of life for the last 20.
5 comments:
I've always thought moving to the country and having chickens sounded appealing--but then I'm too attached to my modern city conveniences :)
LOVE LOVE LOVE that book. We had a house in the country with 10 acres. I absolutely love lots of space with lots of dirt to dig in. Problem was the house was a money pit...a turn of the century Victorian mouse house, if you know what I mean. So when I got pregnant with baby #1 at 34 years old we sold it and moved to the city to make some real money and have a clean place to live for a while. We're still here in the city (and just had babies 2&3), but trying to find the perfect place with 10-15 acres for a big garden, etc...
10 to 15 acres! Whoa, I was thinking of 1 maybe 2 acres. And Scribbit, I would imagine those little chickens would freeze their you know whats off!
you are hilarious! i love the sarcasm and wit! thanks for the smile and the comment on my blog!
you have a beautiful family and are very blessed.
:D
Thanks so much for having your hubby share his 9/11 story...as I was reading it, many very similar memories that my husband and I experienced that day came flooding into my mind. It had a deep effect on my husband, from what he saw that day. He never spoke much about it, and would from then on, never go visit Ground Zero with me. We are fortunate that both our husbands made it home alive that eve of 9/11. Dani
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