I’ve suddenly begun to dislike using my office/studio. I don’t know why. If any of you have been in there you know it’s a great space. The walls are painted a deep red – which Lindell says is a pre-requisite for anything postmodern, even a post modern Abbey. I have a couple of arm chairs for spiritual direction appointments; a desk to write on; and a long table top for art projects. There are beautiful collages made just for me and Emily’s stunning photographs. By all accounts it’s a well appointed place.

I just can’t seem to settle down in there lately.

Maybe it’s because it’s dark in my office – in spite of a whole wall of windows (they face North). Or maybe it’s because the room has become Souren’s den for video games, on on-line test taking, and My Space gabbing (a.k.a. “vitamin Flirt.”) I just don’t want to be in there lately and prefer to write in the sunny living room or in my cocoon-like bedroom under the eaves.

I was exhausted by five o’clock yesterday. When Paul came home he found me sitting in front of the garden bed staring blankly at a flat of white pansies. I’d escaped there to have some solitude, but the got stuck just spacing out. I wasn’t sure why I was so tired until Rebecca came up from her room and hung out with me while I was making dinner. “How many people do you think came through the house today?” she asked. We started counting.

One: Tammy and…
Two: Oskar who came to be dropped of for babysitting and brought his visiting…
Three: Grandmother.
Four: Helene and …
Five: Stuart who came by to say goodbye on the way to taking Stuart to the airport.
Six: Luna who came for babysitting dropped off by her dad…
Seven: David.
Eight: Bill who came to pick me up so I could go to the daycare and pick up…
Nine: Ian, who I am babysitting for a little while his parent’s get used to a new shared work/childcare schedule.
Ten: Rosie, Ian’s sister, who I’m also watching after school, along with…
Eleven: Eden and…
Twelve: Cate who came clambering off the bus full of energy and chatter.
Thirteen: Souren who needed a) the wireless card, b) the lawn mower, c) ice cream.
Fourteen: Katie, our neighbor, who came through the back door to hang out after dinner.
Fifteen: Sharon, who lives here and runs the Oskar/Luna daycare.
Sixteen: Me, who lurks around doing who-knows-what and complaining about her “cushy alienated life.” (quoted from Claire on Six Feet Under.)
Eighteen: Paul, who came home at 5pm and immediately started to mow the lawn, which leaves him with a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.
Nineteen: Rebecca, who happened to have the day off from work and witnessed all the coming and goings.

Oh…I could have sworn we had 20 when we tallied it up last night. Well, whoever else I’ m missing, I’m sorry, it’s not that you’re forgettable, it’s just that I have a Swiss cheese brain. (I swear part of your brain gets lost when you have children and you never get it back.)

Last weekend we went to a going away party for some folks who used to be some of our very best friends. We were part of a co-housing group and we were really planning on building or buying something that we could live in together. Then we just kept talking, and talking, and talking – and finally Paul and I had the opportunity to buy this house. We talked to the group and decided to take it. No one was ready (or willing) to buy in with us or to buy something else with us, so we leapt. And that was the end of that.

Eventually, as we built a community centered around the Abbey house, we drifted away from each of the other folks in the co-housing group. I still don’t quite know why – somewhere within I know it wasn’t exactly and amicable drift, but there wasn’t really a fight either. Life just turned us in different directions – directions each didn’t entirely approve of for the other, perhaps – and we didn’t see much of each other anymore.

The result is that whenever I see these folks, especially this one couple that’s moving back towards family in Milwaukee, I have this vague feeling of failure, or maybe it’s disappointment – like when you know your parents are disappointed in you for changing you major; or your choice of boyfriend; or your decision to spend a year hostel-jumping in Europe. So I was a bit squirmy when we headed off to the party for these folks. But once I got there, I felt really secure. People I hadn’t seen for a long time were asking me about life and I was able to tell them about my plans for a writing retreat; and how well Monkfish Abbey is doing with everyone pitching in; and how we live together with two housemates and our neighbors, Helene and Souren. And I realized, once again, that as a couple, as a family, we are living the communal reality we had hoped for. The front door to the house opens and closes; or the side gate creaks; or there are footsteps on the back steps; and people roll in and out of the Abbey house. We are indeed, living the dream.