Nicole Locke: Are You Settled Yet?

Are you settled yet?

I can’t say how many times I’ve been asked this question since arriving in the US on the 17th of December. I'm sure people are simply being friendly and making idle chat. I'm sure they don't truly mean it.

Do they mean it!?  Because that sentence is equivalent to asking a new mother if she’s sleeping through the night. Isn’t it just assumed she isn’t sleeping through the night?

There is no way I am settled. What does that even mean? That I have a routine, that I’ve formed habits?

Because I don’t…I haven’t. I’m sleeping, I’m not. The kids are getting to school on time…they’re not. I don’t even leave my bedroom the same way yet.  I can go straight or turn right to get to the kitchen. Which way should I go? Which is faster, convenient, more scenic?

Does being settled mean my house is furnished because let me share some pictures with you. One is of the living room, and the other of my daughter's room.

These pictures are of the house right now. This is after copious amounts of shopping. Way more shopping than I ever care to do. Going to any store once a month is too much for me. Now I have to go food shopping two times a week, plus the hardware store, and the paint store. Don’t get me started on the online purchases. This is…this is death by shopping for me. And what do I have to show for it? Three mattresses, some bed frames, and a few rugs. Oh, I may have bought some bath towels, too.

But that’s all that people are going to see when they come in. They’re not going to see that I had to change my daughter’s rug three times only to realize none of them worked, so her floor is still bare. That her bed frame came, but the feet were all broken and I've been waiting weeks for replacements.

People aren’t going to come into my house and say: 'Nice paperclips and envelopes!' Or: 'Wow, you really agonized over that toothpaste brand didn’t you?'

Because I did. Absolutely. And that’s a story I’ll share another day when my shudders have lessened, and the store clerks aren’t alarmed anymore by the mumbling.

Quite simply, I can’t seem to have a routine if there’s nothing to routine with. My house is bare.

The horror of it is, you don’t know what you need until you don’t have it. Get out of the bath? Need a bath mat. Want to make fried rice? Buy every ingredient except… soy sauce. Have something stuck in your teeth? Well…you get the picture.

We left some things here in our old home, and are now using our new things, but this doesn’t help at all. There are no habits here. This isn’t the same spoon I’ve been using every day for a decade. I’m not turning on the same hob I’ve used for the last eleven years.

And how am I dealing with the fact I seem to have nothing and yet I’m shopping all the time? Not very well.  In fact, I resent it, am frustrated at it. Just want to set fire and start again. Except, I am starting again and have to buy a laundry basket. 

Does being settled mean what I fear it means. That I feel at home?  Because I don’t. Not at all. Not…yet. But I know something is beginning to happen. I found everyday cheese the family likes. And I think for now, that’ll have to be enough.

In the meantime, I'll keep battling and reporting from the trenches of moving house. Has anyone else moved home? Would love to know how you survived!

-- Nicole :-)

To find out more about Nicole Locke, visit her website, and follow her on Twitter.

The fourth book in the Lovers and Legends series, In Debt to the Enemy Lord, is out now! 

“You have a debt to pay. You owe me your life.”

Chapter 1, excerpt
 

Wales—1290

‘I’m going to die,’ Anwen of Brynmor muttered. ‘And why would that be? Because I climbed a tree and plunged to my death. That’s why.’

She circled the giant oak again. The thick lower branches could easily hold her weight. But it wasn’t the lowest branches terrifying her. No, it was the thinnest sprays of green at the top where she needed to go. She could no longer see her hunting goshawk tangled in the highest branches, but she could hear his screeching.

‘Oh, now you need me, do you? It would have been useful if you heeded me when you broke your creance and flew into Dameg Forest.’

She jumped, reached but missed the lowest branch. Her great blue gown billowed heavily around her legs. She quickly began unlacing the bodice.

‘No, I called and called and you just flapped your little wings, trailing your leather jesses behind you. You care now, don’t you? Now your jesses are tangled.’

Finished unlacing, she shrugged her shoulders until the gown pooled at her feet. Shivering, teeth chattering, she stepped out of the material. It was too cold to be in the forest, certainly too cold to be shedding any layers of clothing. At least it was also too cold for many people to be in the forest at this time of morning so there was no one to protest her lack of modesty. Shaking out any mud or wrinkles, she laid the gown gently on a fallen tree. It was her best dress despite the worn hem and hole in the sleeve.

‘I’d leave you if I could, Gully. But we have England’s fine King,

and Gwalchdu’s arrogant lord, who’d order a hand chopping for losing you.’

The tiny hawk let out a wild screech.

‘Oh, you’re for the death punishment as well, are you? It won’t be me who will be punished, it will be Melun. That kind old falconer never hurt you one day in his life. So I’ll fetch you for his sake, not for your stringy neck.’

Stepping closer to the trunk, she crouched low and leapt. She was rewarded with shredding her hands against the bark and falling on her backside in cold, partially frozen mud.

‘Owwww!’

She sat catching her breath, but not able to catch her anger which bloomed up out of her. Punching the mud, she vented her frustration. ‘Why couldn’t I simply go home peacefully? You know I loathe visiting Gwalchdu village with all its perfectly thatched houses and perfectly cleaned streets.’

Thinking of Gwalchdu angered her more. She sprang up and threw mud at the tree trunk. ‘Then you fly off, making more work for me. And now I’m ranting, you rotten bird!’

Jumping, she grabbed the branch with her lacerated hands. Pain knifed through her arms, but she wouldn’t let go. Swinging her legs, she pushed her feet on to the roughened bark. Her grip slipped and fury arced through her.

It was bad enough losing her pride and yelling at a bird. It was worse yet wanting to sulk. And for what? Only so she could compare Brynmor with Gwalchdu? Her home was superior to Gwalchdu and it always would be.

She bit her fingers deep into the bark. She refused to slip. Strongly Welsh, Brynmor had fought to the end of the war against the English and so would she. Pulling up with all her might, she screamed.