I'm sentimental about most things. Even the ones you shouldn't be sentimental about. The trivial. It's hard to throw away ticket stubs from ten years ago because what if I forgot what a great show it was. The leftover birthday candles from year number nine. But also, songs, places, memories, etc. If you dabble in the world of Enneagram, I am most decidedly a Four, which means I'm probably the only person on the planet who can feel this strongly about any of these topics and you have NO IDEA WHAT I'M GOING THROUGH. Also, HOW DARE YOU.
This summer was going to be an average, ordinary summer. No vacation planned, but we would throw something together. The kids had things to do, and we had a college freshman to pack up, and we would work around that and go on a trip and then I would go back to work and everything would be normal. And then, we sold our house. There was a conversation. "Should we sell it?" There was an offer. And then it was done. So quickly that, even after it happened, I didn't mention our plans out loud because we had to find a place to live, and if I said it out loud maybe I would jinx it. So the countdown clock ticked away, and the 14 Day Closing! that was so alluring at the start of this whole "Sell the House" adventure seemed to taunt us.
My friend Julie, sensing my panic, offered to fly to Dallas to help me gather my wits and pack our belongings. She's moved more times in her life than the average bear, and she's a wizard at logistics, organization, etc. I'd hoped that by the time she arrived, everything would be done and she would be impressed by my extreme organization. Instead, I panic-bought Hteo several times a day and paced around the house, wondering how it would all get done. And avoided texts and phone calls because if I didn't talk about it, maybe it wasn't happening.
Julie arrived, made a plan, and we got to work packing up the remaining bedrooms and kitchen and all of the other things that you don't really want to pack, but you also can't get rid of. Filters to things that you probably put in a different box. A cord that you are pretty sure goes to that device in the living room. We walked to a taco place for lunch, got a tour of the neighbor's remodel, and her presence made me believe that we could actually pull this off.
For the first move in our married lives, we hired movers. I would have returned every single library book on time always if I knew how lovely it was to have strangers load your belongings into a truck and unload them into a new house. Even if that new house has a third floor. And a weird and narrow staircase that is impossibly angled.
The move happened. So quickly that I had no time to reflect or feel sad. Then, four days later, we went to Arkansas for a family reunion. Arkansas and the Thextons were lovely, but I was looking forward to coming back to our new place and having one week to unpack before I had to go back to work.
Do you remember Dr. Fauci? You might not like him. But then again, maybe you purchased one of those coffee mugs with his face on it. Either way, he always used to talk about scenarios to avoid in order to stay Covid Free! Large groups of people. Big events with large groups of people. Life. Perhaps it was inevitable, but my souvenir from the reunion was my very first case of Covid. I had all of the shots and boosters and I had been exposed to members of my own household who had contracted it over the past two years. I secretly thought I was magically immune. Alas. The last week before going back to work was mostly me high on cold medicine and being grouchy and exhausted. Discombobulated.
All of this long drawn out droning has been my way of saying that I've not been sentimental about leaving our house. I've tried to figure out why. Maybe it was the way the laundry room smelled with the washer line backed up in June. Maybe it was the memory of the sound of the pool when the water level got too low because of a phantom leak that would cost $10,000 to detect. Or maybe it was the 14 day closing coupled with a family reunion and covid. No matter, I've not been sentimental, and maybe I never will be. But at our new place, I do miss familiarity. It doesn't feel like home yet. It feels nice. I'm glad to be here. But there's something to be said about the familiarity and comfort of a place that you are used to.
On Friday, I left work early to drive to Springfield. My family planned to celebrate my grandmother's 99th birthday on Saturday, and I wanted to attend. For a myriad of reasons, I was the only person from our family of 5 to make the journey. In my new(to me) and unfamiliar car. Another change. I took a different route. Because why not just mix it all up.
As I drove into town, it always feels different than the Springfield of my youth, but there is always an undercurrent of familiarity. I drove through town to pick up dinner before I checked into my hotel, and each place I passed brought back memories. Hangouts with friends, first date locations, the track I used to run at. The place I worked in 1999 when we thought that Y2K was going to take all of the computers down. Imos Pizza, at the neighborhood location by the local college that I'd spent so much time at. The hotel was brand new, but it was built just down the street from the house where I grew up. In the morning, I went for a walk at the Springfield Nature Center. I'd spent hours there, with friends, dates, and alone. It was so familiar.
The birthday lunch was at Hemingway's Restaurant at Bass Pro Shop. The Original location. I live in Texas and Texas is super extra about everything. But Bass Pro Shop is doing just fine. You should visit it. It would even impress Texans. It was fun to see aunts and uncles and cousins that I hadn't seen in years. It was familiar.
After the lunch, I said my goodbyes, got back in my New Car and drove the six hours to Texas. I felt lighter this time, however. On my way to Missouri, things felt jumbled and unfamiliar. After less than a day surrounded by the familiarity and memories of my youth, I have a spring in my step. Now, where the devil are my slippers?
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