Next Chapter

13 Feb

I know that I have been lagging in my blogging obligations lately but don’t judge, I’ve been a bit busy.   If you are one of my three (or so) faithful followers and you’ve been panicked by my absence from the cyber universe, please take the hospitals off of speed dial and stop scouring the streets, I am fine.  I simply moved half-way across the country.

Map

I am not going to lie to you folks, it is cold out here on the Minnesota prairie.  Freaking cold!  Like, breath-in-and-the-snot-in-your-nose-turns-to-ice-pellets kind of cold.  But who’s complaining?  We chose this and I’m loving it!  Frankly, I’ll take the bitter cold temps over blazing hot sun any day.  Then again, it’s only been a month of this kind of weather and I’ve only experienced approximately 2 days where the wind chill hit about -30.  Check back after a few winters of these kinds of shenanigans and I may be singing a different tune.

For anyone wanting a little glimpse of what has been going on over the past two months, here you have it.  

miss you

Basically, when I wrap it all up in a nutshell, I cried…a lot.  I cried for myriad reasons but the two most prevalent were out of sadness and from exhaustion.  After I originally wrote this post and poured my heart out about the inner tinkerings of my mind and the kindling for each emotion, I realized…no one really wants to read about my teary episodes!  Simply put, I was sad about moving away from friends and family and about leaving the home that held so many important memories for our family.  I was tired from all of the packing while also dealing with trying to keep my three year-old fed (I admit that a lot of pizza and take-out was involved), clothed (nothing matched and there were many days when PJ’s were worn from one morning to the next), and out of the way of potential death traps that had become the towers of boxes in our living room.  I was exhausted from doing all of this on my own* (my husband had already departed for Minnesota in early November to start his new job, but don’t give him grief, he packed and prepped as much as he could before he left).  I was horrified at the fact that I was finding more than the usual two gray hairs upon my head (the count is now up to seven).   I was plain old pissed at the fact that the consultant for the moving company that we  hired had told me that we had “a lot of stuff,” therefore (and very logically) making it my mission to prove him wrong by getting our total haul in under weight of his estimation. (Mission accomplished, by the way!  We recently got word that we came in over 400lbs under their estimated weight.  Take that, Gary!  Mr. Judgy Gary with your clip board and calculator!  Who’s the skinny bitch now?  Yeah, me. That’s right, ME!)

When our house finally sold, I was elated.  When I found out that the couple who bought our home was not the elderly couple I had envisioned, a pair so old and feeble that they would have no energy or desire to alter any of our renovations, I quickly turned to demonizing them and casting them as characters that I had to hate rather than accept as people that I might actually get along with, or worse, people that the my friends in my neighborhood might actually get along with and befriend.  The buyers quickly became known and Biff and Buffy and I envisioned them as the “Two A**Holes” couple from Saturday Night Live.

It turns out that they actually aren’t so bad.  We’ve had some contact through our realtors and it seems that they truly are appreciative of the home’s age and character.  In one note to us, they wrote that we had “wonderful taste” so I am willing to revoke their “Biff and Buffy” status.  A note to my friends “in the neighborhood” back East: I still don’t want to hear about if you all become Besties with this couple and start hanging out every Friday and Saturday to host fabulous wine and cheese parties highlighted by rousing games of Bananagrams.  I’m still in a delicate frame of mind.

So, my family and I forge on and continue to adapt here in the Great Midwest.  The most shocking aspect of this move is how NICE the people are.  I’m used to a keep-to-yourself, don’t-hold-up-the-line, fast-paced culture. Here, it’s different.  I find myself apologizing profusely in the grocery store when my daughter runs ahead of me and bumps into another patron in the canned fruit aisle.  Said patron simply stops and smiles and offers us a mint from her purse.  In the check-out line, I frantically search my seemingly bottomless purse for my member’s card, mortified that there are three families behind me waiting their turn.  Instead of staring me down, the gentleman behind me strikes up a conversation about a detox diet that he saw on “Good Morning America” that morning.  And, apparently, no one is suspicious of anyone else.  This fact was just proven by a bathroom break.  While writing this post at a Panera Bread, I decided to pause and gently leaned toward the trio of women sitting next to me and asked if they would mind keeping an eye on my stuff while I went to the restroom.  All three of them stared at me blankly, as if my request were absurd.  I guess it may have been to them, but in the past, a bathroom break required the gathering and packing of all my possessions (coat, purse, computer bag, coffee cup—ya know, in case a shady character had intentions of lacing it with something in my absence), hauling it to the bathroom, and then unpacking it all over again upon exiting.  I used to do this multiple times in one coffee-shop work-session.  Now, I feel as if I could leave my phone, my car keys, and a blank check in plain sight without consequence.  In fact, I did just leave all of those things out-and-about without consequence.

Don’t be surprised if my next post is about the filing of a police report detailing a stolen phone, keys, and checkbook.

blank check

*Disclaimer: Let it be known henceforth and hereafter that being “on my own” makes reference only to the temporary separation of my husband and myself set forth by the circumstances of having 1,171 miles inserted between our physical locations on this planet.  In no way is it meant to reflect the status of our relationship nor to insinuate that he didn’t do everything in his power to prepare for the move before he left and offer support while he was away.  Let it also my known (a double-disclaimer, if you will), that I did have help in this endeavor.  My parents, in-laws and multiple friends helped in countless ways to get us from point A to point B and we are forever grateful to them.

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One Response to “Next Chapter”

  1. Gary Falzone February 13, 2013 at 8:09 pm #

    It’s always a lot of fun reading what you write. You keep it very interesting. The best of luck to you and family in MN 🙂

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