The concept of “next year” has always been alien to me. I wasn’t aware of this until recently. It seems I have undergone an inconceivable metamorphosis since moving to Napa Valley three years ago and have now established the foreign ritual of planning with vision for the future. This may sound sad for a 45+year-old, but it’s not. I have always relished my free spirit and mobile way of life. Gathering experiences, street smarts, connections, and worldly familiarity like most people gather stuff to store in their garages. Both existences are meaningful. Both include avoidances and dysfunction. We are but mere mortals after all.

Now I find myself doing the same events each year at my job, thinking three years ago that it didn’t matter because I wouldn’t be around for the same event next year. Now it matters a great deal. Now I find myself with a card from my dentist for an appointment six months from now that I will actually go to… like I have for the past three years. Now I find myself with a wonderful group of friends that I will have in my life forever (well, I came here with a wonderful group of friends in tact, but they are scattered all over the world and not in my daily life).

I find myself cultivating relationships and being known in my community as someone who makes a positive difference. I went to Target the other day with Mom and we were fervorently discussing hardwood floor cleaners because we’ve never had hardwood floors before. I got a little frustrated and said “I just want a damn cleaner that is easy to use, eco-happy and doesn’t smell!” Just then a gentlemen that I know through my community connections walked by and awkwardly said “Hi” to me. His girlfriend was with him and I was mortified. Did I mention I didn’t have any makeup on!

If the only downside to establishing roots in a small community is running into people you know everywhere you go, then I can live with that.

Now, I find myself looking forward to the seasons and how amazing it is that the vineyards look different every year. I can’t wait for the smell of crush in the air and the sound of the huge rustling wings of red-tail hawks resting in the tree over my roof, protecting me at night. I act like child clapping with joy at a first experience every time I see deer in my yard or a hot air balloon in the sky.

I can’t imagine being anywhere else… oh no, hang on… I almost said it, but it’s not true! I can still vividly see myself living in Italy and truly feel all the meaning that has for me, but now that vision has been altered to include what my fringe-swelling friends affectionately call a “crash pad” in Napa Valley… forever.

Picture: Self Portrait VI
© 2008, Katherine Zimmer