Living in Two Worlds

I have a house in suburbia, where I sing in a chorus, go dancing with friends, and shop at amazing thrift stores and then resell to the public through Facebook Marketplace.

Then there’s my beach town, where life is slower, the ocean is one shade of blue, the sky another. Deer wander in front of my property, and people walk by with their dogs or ride by on e-bikes. The thrift stores are amazing, and the people who work there know me by name.

I am living my best seventy-year-old life. However, a gardener and cleaning lady for both houses, I realize that I can’t keep this up much longer. It’s getting too hard, and the end result is two amazing front yards, two good back yards and two dirty houses. I prefer outdoor work. Since it’s California, gardening goes on twelve months a year. Only rain storms keep me out of the garden.

My neighbor told me today that I live in two worlds. It’s so true. I normally spend Wednesdays and Thursdays in my beach town after Tuesday night chorus rehearsals (the joys of retirement), but this week I had a Friday morning memorial service to go to for a chorus friend, so that shifted my beach days to Saturday and Sunday.

Actually, driving through San Jose on a weekend morning is way better than during the week. There was less traffic but more than I thought there would be. The Thanksgiving holiday turns into a week off for many, like school children. The schools figured out long ago that they lose federal funding for each child whose parents take them out of school to go skiing in Tahoe. Many districts give the kids the whole week off.

But I digress.

Back to the two worlds thing. I had a load of children’s coats to deliver to a charity in Seaside (near my beach town), but my neighbor has to deliver them since the charity is closed on weekends, and I have to drive back on Monday morning since my DC daughter arrives that day, plus I have an appointment first thing Tuesday morning.

I forgot to meet friends for dancing Friday evening. I was too busy packing up for the beach trip, picking up the coats ( my singles club did a coat drive) and going to the memorial service.

On Saturday, another friend texted, asking why I wasn’t coming to Clementine’s that evening, a restaurant and bar near my suburban home. I never intended on going, but I guess she didn’t know that.

I have to hurry back for stuff in suburbia, and sometimes I need to come to the beach town for appointments here, like the consignment appointment at the kids’ shop, where I’ve been selling off dresses that I’d repurposed for pioneer day fieldtrips. I used my store credit there to buy clothes to donate to the Seaside charity.

At 70, it’s time to get rid of stuff, to streamline and simplify. I’ve never been good at that, so it’s an uphill battle.

Wish me luck!