It’s a beautiful large wooden chest, delicately carved on its front. My guess is that it is from Oman. The dark wood, the intricate work, its age, these are some of the things that give its origin away, and it is right in front of me, standing proud, reminding me of all the uncertainties heading my way.
We are leaving. I know that now. It is not written anywhere, but by now I can read the signs. It wont be just now. Many months will pass perhaps even before we know where. And then, only then, perhaps not even then, time will transform itself, and with it, so will our lives.
The time change I can predict and describe. The transformation of our lives, I can only wait to witness as a by stander.
First, time will be slow and heavy. Every evening I will welcome my husband to a tired home. One that has lived a full day and is ready to drink some warm milk and go to bed. He will be tired as well, the children will welcome him with excitement, knowing that with him comes the night, and rest, and only then another full day to fill. In the silence of the dark we might not speak of it, but it will be there. We will scrutinize time, as it lazily and distractedly waits and waits before giving anything away.
Some months from now it may choose to give us something. The sign may be clear of muffled, and then we will patiently wait some more. I will try to plan, without really knowing what to plan for. We will continue trying to believe in the permanence of our home, but knowing really that we are only playing this part, like characters from a play.
And then one day, somewhere in the not so distant horizon, time will pull off this lazy cloak and reveal our fate. And then I know what it will look like. This 80 year old maid will turn into a frenzied child. The world will revolve around us at high speed. It will be impatient and spoiled and demanding. So we will run, and run and run.
Soon after all -hell will break loose. How the children react to this, now no longer babies, will very much determine what this part will look like. All I know is that there will be a rough period. A rough ride.
But once its done, once the fairground has closed its doors and dimmed its lights, I will find my old friend again, the time from my home. The one that likes to sit for tea once the children have left for school. The one that stays up with me late into the night, making time for me to read or write to a dear old friend.
For the time being, time and me are hanging out, playing chess if you like, she makes a move, I make a move. We play with the kids and drink coffee. But we both know this will change. Its just a matter of time.