One year

We pulled into town and picked up our keys one year ago. We're not at all where we expected to be. And in some ways that's good, and others not so much.

With Arthur adding the second Master's degree to his time here, it almost feels like we're starting over. Last year, we began a two-year stint. The clock has stalled - with the SNRE year, we're still facing two years ahead of us. It's a strange feeling. Partially starting over. Partially settled in. A whole lot of shifting ground.

On the road

I-90 in New York does tend to feel like it goes on forever. I’ve driven on both ends of 90 (Seattle and Boston), but never in the middle past Buffalo. I suspect that if I feel the NY stretch goes on forever, I should probably find a different route through the Dakotas should the need arise.

We would have loved to split off from I-90 and driven around Lake Erie on the north side because it’s a much shorter distance, but Arthur was worried about two border crossings with a car loaded down with so much stuff. If we get searched at Customs, we’d be there all day!

So instead we drove through two more states on our way to Michigan. As soon as we crossed into Ohio, it felt like we were in the Midwest – roads were under construction almost the entire route. This jives with my memory of driving through Minnesota, Illinois, and Wisconsin several years back – “two seasons: winter, and road construction.”

I’d joked that there weren’t any major Ohio cities that don’t begin with “C”, but then we found some on the map. (Akron, Toledo, etc.)

Most of the drive was clear sailing, but we hit some traffic snarl when there was an accident. That cost us an extra hour or so. (Also, I must recommend listening to The Bugle Olympic-themed podcasts for a long drive :)

To make up for the delay, I posted rude things to facebook. Like, how I saw no proof that Cleveland “rocked” or that Toledo was “holy”. And the “entering Sandusky” sign poses problems it didn’t a year ago. (Facebook then pointed out it houses one of the best amusement parks in the country, so maybe we’ll have to get over the sign and road trip there next spring.)

Given 14+ hours of driving on highways, we ate more fast food than we’re used to. We’re definitely looking forward to having a kitchen of our own again soon. It’s been a week!

One of the problems with interstates is that you don’t really get a sense of a place. Like when I took the train to Holyhead from Edinburgh – all I saw of Wales was trailer parks. Wales is much more than that! (I hear it’s got used bookstores, for starters. Hm… a week in Wales before heading to Edinburgh next summer?)

I’d really appreciate suggestions of weekend trips to Ohio and Indiana so we can get off the highway and explore new places. Take advantage of our new location. (And we’ll certainly be heading to Chicago at some point. Although if Lisa is going to visit Boston now that we’re gone, we’ll have to punish her by not bringing pie. More pie for Arthur!)

In some ways it’s a shame we’re only here for two years. That’s only one summer. And (assuming I get a job, which I better!) I won’t really have enough vacation time to drive through neighboring states and take advantage of being in the Midwest. I love travel, and I love foreign travel (see: Wales next year?), but the U.S. is so huge that I also enjoy wandering around random places closer to home. What’s in Iowa besides corn? Let’s go find out! Hey, aren't the DCI finals in Indianapolis? Well, let's go!

(Yes, one of the things we’re definitely adjusting to is the sense of scale. It takes effort to drive through four states in 3 hours!)

Anyway, after another rude comment (“’Pure Michigan’? Where’s Impure Michigan – I want to go there!”) or five, we made it safely to Josh’s for the night. (Where he also kindly let us use his garage so we didn’t have to unload all of our valuables.)


Almost real. *gulp*

Interlude

Continuing with the unreal feeling, we spent a couple nights at my brother’s house. He conveniently chose to live halfway between Boston and Ann Arbor – he’s very considerate that way.

The reason it’s unreal is that we’ve been there before, so it’s still in our comfort zone. It’s still part of life in Boston even if it’s not Boston. This strange not-quite-here, not-quite-there state.

Anyway, we took a break from the road and went out with friends in the morning. Got empanadas at the public market, as well as some nice yarn before heading to a Puerto Rican restaurant for lunch. You have to understand, these are friends who have been promising me Puerto Rican food in Rochester for *years*, but something has always put a monkey wrench in the plans. (Last time BOTH restaurants we went to were closed for the weekend.)

So finally, after years and years of the siren’s call, we made it to a Puerto Rican restaurant in Rochester :)

After being dropped off back at my brother’s (our friends were kind enough to chauffeur us for the morning so that we didn’t have to unload everything from our car – getting to stash it in my brother’s garage was such a relief!), my brother then suggested this Finger Lakes wine and music festival. So I said sure!

I sampled nearly every rosé there (that was the sweetest most vendors had; there aren’t lot of reds in that region). I really liked the first one – enough so that I went back and bought a bottle before leaving.

However, it was downhill from there. I liked each vendor’s rosé less and less. Sort of what motivated me to go back and buy a bottle from the first guy - rewarding something I like :) Which I’m glad I did; while waiting in line, I heard the vendor talking about how badly the organizers had communicated with the vendors and how much money the vendors were losing. (In fact, he said several vendors got there, realized what was actually going on, and left. And several didn’t bring enough stock.) So actually purchasing a bottle makes a difference for the vendor.

The event had someone from the Guinness Book of World Records on site, as they were trying to break the record for highest number of attendees at a wine tasting. It didn't seem like they were anywhere close to what the needed for numbers, so oh well - I haven't helped break any world records.

So yes, a little pause halfway through the trip for a last bit of normalcy and fun, living in denial a little longer.


Oh! And my brother now has a new puppy:

Wherein our heroine gets all mopey and melodramatic

I was spoiled when I was younger, thinking highways all looked like the MassPike in Western Mass. Ha.

Usually I can’t stop the warm feeling I get whenever we hit the point on the turnpike when we leave the valley and start heading into the Berkshire Hills. I have no nostalgia for Pittsfield particularly. I cannot, however, shake the love I have for Western Mass. and Vermont. I'm a New Englander through and through. It’s something that 21 formative years have etched into my heart.

Today, though, I pass through the lush green hills with a sense of sadness. There’s no excitement because I’m off on a vacation and will soon see my beloved New England when I return; this is goodbye, who knows when I’ll see you again. I’m moving somewhere strange, and flat. I assume the leaves change colors in Michigan, too. But will it match the splendor of Vermont in October?

Crikey, I’m sounding like a such a sap. But all but 3 of my 37 years have been spent here. There are only two autumns I have not seen my New England foliage. I love traveling, but *leaving* is different. Crossing out of Massachusetts starts to make it real. I’m LEAVING.


Most of me loves the challenge of starting over somewhere new, and meeting new people and exploring new places. But for this moment, I am going to succumb to the melodramatic part that will really miss what will always be home.

In between

There’s that weird headspace when we no longer have a home, but haven’t actually hit the road yet, either. Still living one life for another day, but mentally 800 miles away, worrying about getting new car insurance and finding a job and hoping I don’t need any of the yarn that’s now on the moving truck…

Last night (after napping and staring into space for a couple of hours) we ran into Brookline Booksmith to cash in some accumulated gift cards. (I did say there was some room left in the car, right?...) I’d stopped in Pandemonium last week one last time, as well. Rituals. Places that I frequent and will miss. Buying books. Again – ritual. The familiar, while I can.

Today was my last day of work. With the truck scheduled for this week, last week would have been my last week in the office, but I’d instigated a bridal shower for a coworker and wanted to be there. So today was that odd mix of getting usual tasks done, trying to tie up as many loose ends as possible, feeling like nothing’s changed, and then saying goodbye to everyone.

Julia got me a lovely goodbye cake :) (She knows I like chocolate and don’t like Rosie’s.) And wow, everyone was generous with the going-away gift cards to help me get settled in the new place.

I’ve gotten to work with some truly wonderful people here over the past 5 years. After preparing to leave for 6 months, it suddenly doesn’t feel like enough time to say goodbye.

After rushing out the door (it’s so *hard* to leave the office when people keep stopping to say goodbye), I swung by the farmer’s market to get some final fixins for dinner. Neecy and Neffie are coming over to Arthur’s parents’ house (where we’re spending the night).

Neffie is the old pro, having been there a couple of times before. So he gets to show Mama and Neecy around. Starting with the piano :) (On his previous visit, he discovered the pedals. Uh-oh!)

Last week when he was here, the tomatoes were all still unripe. But tonight he gets to pick the first red tomato of the season! And chop it up for the salad.

I also got the kids to model the sweaters I’d knit, so I could take photos.

We had a great time. Aunt Becky’s house has a piano, a splashing pool, and a train set, after all. That’s pretty cool.

Bittersweet, of course. I tried to explain again to Neffie that we are moving far away. He wrinkles his brow and looks unhappy, because he doesn’t quite know what it means. I’m sad the whole time, because while I’m enjoying spending time with him, I know I won’t see him for a long time and that he doesn’t grasp that yet. But *I* understand it, and I'm hiding tears from him.


I think I need to get a bit drunk. This has been a bizarre day.

Packing, packing, packing.

Well, we thought it’d never end, but it did. We have everything packed. The stuff for the car fits in the car (with emergency room to spare), the last batch of donations has been dropped off at Boomerangs, and the trash bins are overflowing.

(I’ve had us in an unofficial contest with the neighbors who are also moving – every time one of us puts furniture out on the sidewalk, our stuff goes much more quickly. (Heck, there’s even one item we didn’t put out on the sidewalk, but put with the trash bins because it wasn’t worth bleaching out all the mouse droppings hiding in back. It *still* went in under an hour.) It’s the small imaginary victories that keep me going when there’s too much to do. Our stuff is more popular! w00t.)

It’s been a tougher process than in the past. We’ve been in the same place for 9 years, it’s two of us and not just one, we’re not moving across town (where we can just toss a few boxes in the car at a time), and we’ve have solid incomes for the past several years and have started to accrue substantial items (like a queen-sized bed).

So there was a lot more to go through. Boxes that haven’t been looked at in 9 years (*lots* of shredding there!); stuff from my gramma that I couldn’t bear to part with at the time; old nostalgia items that no longer have memories attached; tchotchkes that need to be donated to make my allergist happy… We can’t just toss things in a box and say “we’ll deal with this later” like we have in the past. We’re paying someone to move this for us. We’re about to lose 60% of our income (best case scenario). I steeled myself to be merciless about throwing things away and putting books in storage.

(I’m afraid to go into Boomerangs. Too afraid it’ll look like our apartment.)

Too often I had to look at something, say “I like this, but…” and donate it. I worry that in six months I’ll regret having been so thorough. But we still have so much stuff left, how can I complain!

We gave up on the final boxes late last night. Y’know, the we-no-longer-have-the-right-sized-boxes-for-these-final-things stage. When you wind up throwing the hair dryer in the same box with the light box and tees and hair elastics. Too tired to make pieces fit anymore.

(I got home from my board meeting and Arthur and his mom were drying out the mattress from an AC-relocation mishap. Of course things couldn’t go smoothly… At least this was something fixable.)

Alas, insomnia made me its bitch again – too much going on, swirling around – and I wound up with only a couple of hours of sleep before we headed back at 6 a.m. to finish up before the trucks arrived. Oof. (We’d spent the night elsewhere so that the mattresses could be wrapped – these “baggies” are quite a bit larger than our sandwiches use ;)

But! At 8:42 a.m., Arthur started packing the last lamp. Since the movers were expected between 9 and 10, this worked well. We could organize the boxes, doublecheck that everything was labeled, and clean whatever we needed to.

However… This is when the skies decided to open in an absolute downpour. No! We just got the mattress dry! Thankfully it calmed down by 9:30, which is when the truck arrived.

Gotta’ say, these guys were wonderfully efficient. We felt guilty sitting around reading while they moved everything. We’re so used to moving ourselves! But everything went smoothly, and soon the truck was pulling away and we were left with an empty house.

(In fact, one of the movers even complimented our packing job. Go us! By which I mostly mean Go Arthur!)

It still didn’t feel real. Even with the apartment [mostly – a couple items remained because they belonged with the apartment] empty, it still felt like ours. It didn’t collapse into a bland space. The walls were still the colors we’d painted them; the kitchen still has the custom-built spice rack in the corner; the shelves we put up above the stove are there. Touches of us remained everywhere.



It’s been 9 years. We really loved this place. It was the right space for us. We had landlords who let us paint and decorate and do whatever we wanted (within reason). So we could make it our own. So many landlords insist on no wall hangings, plain white paint… no personality. And alas, traces of our personality still linger and make it harder to say goodbye.

But after touching up the paint and cleaning (there were some eeenteresting dust bunnies hiding behind the bookcases…), we finally washed ourselves up and left.