Wandering Wednesday: New Digs

Not everyone likes posing on my command. 

My mom managed to host Christmas dinner at her old house and New Year's dinner at her new one. Sure, we helped, but still. Today she's going in for her final surgery, so that maybe she can actually enjoy the next holiday dinner she hosts. If you could send some positive vibes her way, it'd be appreciated.

Good-Bye

I have always secretly enjoyed moving. I mean, not the lifting of heavy boxes or the saying good-bye to friends and family if the move was long distance, but the opportunity to purge and reorganize and find the best pizza place. Then again, I have never lived in my dream house. Or dream apartment. I've lived in perfectly lovely places (and some not so lovely ones, to be honest) but I've never moved anywhere and thought, "THIS. This is IT."

My parents did that almost 40 years ago, though. Which perhaps is partly what has allowed me to gallivant around the country for most of my adult life. My childhood home was always there. And it was a great home to grow up in - lots of nooks and crannies, a huge yard to play in and even my own bathroom when I was a teenager. And this weekend my parents moved out of it.

I have such a mixture of emotions about this. Part of it is guilt - they've helped us so much, did we force them to move sooner? Or, if I had been more financially successful, could have I paid their crushing property taxes? I also feel heartbroken for my mom - she never wanted to move. And then there's disappointment that we don't get to enjoy more holidays at the house, that my kids don't get to keep sledding on the lawn. I'm also still a little horrified by the sheer amount of stuff and how much of it was mine.

But mostly, I will just be relieved when it's over. When they've settled into their perfectly nice, more practical, slightly closer new place, I will be glad to hear my mom complain about what she doesn't like about her new kitchen, and to hear how many times my Dad's gotten pizza from Kinchley's. Because while I was fortunate to grow up in such a wonderful house, I was way more fortunate to have the parents I do. And as I look at my Facebook timeline, heart saddening for a friend who's just lost her mom, or for a friend who's mom never got to meet her daughter, or for a friend who's just had her first Christmas without her dad, I realize it's not the house that has always given me a sense of home and safety, it's my parents. And the fact that we get to make new memories in a new house makes us all very lucky.

Cats in the Bathroom

Yesterday, and tomorrow, my parents' cats will be spending the day in the kids' bathroom. Or possibly in Ironflower's bedroom. Maybe both for excitement. The cats are high strung and there is fear that they would disappear or completely freak out if left to roam around our house.

Or they might escape, which is why they are here in the first place. It's too much to ask that the countless people traipsing through an open house be on the look out for your cats, I guess. After 39 years, my parents are putting their house on the market. I believe they are the last of my high school friends' parents to move out of our highly taxed home town, but I haven't exactly taken a poll.

I am not sure how I feel about this. One the one hand,  that's my childhood home. It was a lovely and magical place to grow up. It was nice that my kids got to play in the same yard and whatnot. Plus, my mom really doesn't want to move. On the other hand, my parents really don't need that much of a house, yard or tax bill anymore. It's time.

I guess we're all ambivalent. Except the cats. They are PISSED.

Haiku Friday - The New Blog

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weird being in a new place
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so complicated
wordpress not intuitive
or maybe I'm slow

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that would probably help me
and be too easy

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Back Home?

Everyone keeps asking me how great it is to have moved back home. After seventeen years (granted, four of them were college, but still) I have returned to New Jersey. And I'm not sure great is the word I would use.

I love my new house. I love being close to my parents (well, so far :) ). I love that I can walk everywhere now, or hop on a train into the city. I love that I can get good pizza, real bagels and deli food easily. But.

I don't really know anyone here anymore. I don't like that the Daily Show doesn't come on until eleven. Other moms don't seem very friendly (everyone I have talked to in the park or the neighborhood has been male or childless). I have to bring six different things to get my driver's license.

I like it here, but it doesn't feel like home. For years it's been the place I grew up, the place I visited at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I know it probably won't take all that long to feel at home here- certainly it will take less time for me than for my Kansas native husband. But's it's not great, and it's not home. Not yet.

An Ode to Kansas City

I moved to Kansas City under duress. Most people, especially in the late '90's, did not move from Seattle to Kansas City. Prior to Seattle, I had lived in Portland, Boston and New Jersey. I was not a mid-western kind of gal. But my ex-husband's graduate school options were limited, to say the least. At that point, I still had vague hopes of saving my marriage, so I went along. Then he declared he wanted to have a trial separation upon moving to KC. I agreed, knowing that it would be the end of our marriage (no way would I return to living with him after the freedom of living alone). I went along to feel like I had tried my best - and because I had a teaching job there.

When I moved to Kansas City, I didn't know anyone. I had visited briefly for my job interview and that was it. I didn't know about 3.2 beer, that some people still didn't believe in evolution, that strangers apologized after bumping into you. I could only get from my job to my new apartment. By the following spring, I had friends who called me for directions. I had become a Chiefs fan and actually went to Royals games. I even started calling soda, "pop".

Instead of staying for the year it took my marriage to officially fall apart, I stayed for nine years. At the start, I was somewhat satisfied with my inner-city teaching job. I liked the early spring and the late summer (not to mention the days of sun, something that the Pacific Northwest sorely lacks). I liked the affordable housing. I liked how nice people were at the grocery store. I liked Chiefs games and the manageable yet impressive Nelson Art Museum. I liked Jerry's Bait Shop, Kennedy's Bar and Grill, shopping in Lawrence and Parkville, the preponderance of Targets and the fact that I always ran into acquaintances while I was out.

But I stayed because I made wonderful friends - the kind of friends that I didn't expect to make this late in life. Friends who put up with my moods, my wild bouts of drinking and my tendency to retreat. Friends who listened through my disasters of post-divorce dating, who braved my sad attempts at community theater and karaoke, who threw me baby showers.

I miss you guys more than I can say.