Family, Friends & Boxes - Moving Journal #10

I don't necessarily recommend planning a vacation when you're in the midst of a move, but then again, it was a wonderful opportunity to take a break from the packing and the constant planning in my head of what to put where. My two daughters, one son-in-law, and a selection of four of my grandchildren drove to Philadelphia for a wonderful couldn't-have-been-better visit for a family event, and a day with dear friends. We drove the 14 hours both ways through the night, taking turns sleeping, caravaning in two cars, keeping in touch with cell phones for when we needed to make a stop: "Gotta get gas"..."Gotta pee"..."We're hungry," etc. I admit it was a very long drive and there were times I just didn't want to do it anymore.


Meanwhile, back at home, my dear friend Nancy was good enough to come and stay with Lizzie who, being a dog, has no idea why there are boxes everywhere and things are not as they have always been, though I have certainly tried to explain it to her. Still, she continues to look worried.

While I was gone, Nancy carried on the packing of my many books which has taken more time than packing everything else. She even went in search of boxes and discovered that the best source of book packing boxes can be found in auto supply stores. Those boxes that ship motor oil are the perfect size for books. The day I got back we went to various stores in search of more boxes. I've learned that coming just after noon and before three o'clock is the best time to obtain empty boxes of all sizes, just after they've unloaded them and before they crush them - a piece of miscellany that could prove very useful if you're planning to move.

Nancy has continued to come and help pack, for which I am most grateful. I am somewhat organizationally challenged - confusion tends to render me ...well, confused (did I mention that before?).  And like with the driving from Philly, I sometimes just don't want to continue to do this anymore. Giving up, in either case, has not been an option.

Terri came the first day and got me started, and then came yesterday afternoon, along with Sandy, in time for a quickie supper of chicken wings, rice and salad -- my last friends-for-dinner (one of my favorite things to do) in this home. They did an amazing job of getting the whole kitchen packed. Who knew there was all that stuff under the kitchen sink?

It's a true friend who will come and help you pack, filling boxes with paper wrapped items and securing box after box with tape. Doing it together is a bonding experience - (pun intended). I'm sure there are special rewards in heaven for such folks.



Attempted Categories -- Moving Journal #9

Boxes. When in need of boxes do not ask the manager of the supermarket. Go to the produce guy. He will load you up with apple and banana boxes. You need different kinds of boxes for different stuff. Small ones for books or they get too heavy. That's where the Dollar Store dumpstser boxes are good. Waxed boxes are pretty ugly but will serve for things that could spill, like cleaning supplies or food, not that I'm up to packing food yet.

Packing the books in categories turns out to be more tedius than I expected. Some categories are clearly more defined than others, but what category do you put something like "The Psychology of Jesus" in? Is that NT teachings, Jesus or counseling? Do I put "The Uses of the Old Testament in the New" in OT or NT? Not all have to do with God. There's my books on quilting, beading and knitting. Admittedly I do more looking at the pictures than I do any quilting, beading or knitting. Then there are books like "In Praise of Slowness: Challenging the Cult of Speed." I must find some time to finish that book one day. I found books I forgot I had. And others I've had for decades I'm rather attached to like old friends.

In my quest for categorizing my books, first I made piles on the floor. It quickly became too many categories, which meant more piles, and as I added to the piles, they didn't stay stacked due to being of varying sizes, and so the piles soon began to slouch over into each other. About that time, one 14 pound fluffy white ball of bounding enthusiasm named Lizzy (see photo) paid me a visit and that pretty much obliterated most of the deliniations between the categories. So much for that idea. 

I guess I'll put them more in categories on the unpacking end.

  

Old Letters & Books... Moving Journal #8

I've begun packing now that I have the Dollar Store boxes. I began with kitchen items and serving pieces I doubt I'll have any use for between now and the move. It was a start.

Then I began to dissessemble my office. I have books and more books. I think they spore when I'm not looking. When I moved last time my grandson Zander (e.g. Alexander) got the other grandkids to put the books in the shelves while he set up my computer. They unloaded all my books and within two hours after arriving, my office was all functional. Only they just shoved the books in the shelves more or less by size, oblivious to my personal  requirement to actually know where a book is. I would have set them up by sub-topics within topics, such as: Israel: Biblical history; modern history; language; heroes; literature, etc. But I never rearranged them. So each time I need a book, which I frequently do for research purposes, I have to search for it.  This time I'm going to pack them in categories so when Project Manager Zander has the kids set my office up again, I'll be able to locate what I need easily.

     In the process of dissesembling parts of the office, I came upon a folder of my son's letters that he wrote to me in the days before email. Real letters, with handwriting that would often tell what mood he was in (dreamy and slow, or fast & tense). They were from his Boston University days, from when he moved to Martha's Vineyard for a season, then a brief stint in L.A. until he landed in San Francisco and decided to make it his home. Little by little the letters dwindled off as I recall email taking over. I sat last night for a few hours with a cup of tea, (and okay, yes, a bowl of ice cream too, Mocha Fudge!!) while reading through years of my son's life, 'feeling' with him, remembering, seeing how he was then the person he is now - always the philosopher at heart, a musician, and a people studier.  I'll be sure he gets the letters so he can see that about himself.

     Now that I've decided to tackle packing the books, the biggest challenge is to resist the impulse to stop and read just a paragraph or two. I don't dare sit down with even one, or hours will go by and my ADD distractibility will have won again. OK, Lonnie. Enough writing. Get up and do something productive.

Belonging -- Moving Journal #7

I never realized how much ownership I have of where I live until now that I am about to leave it behind. As I anticipate moving within the next month, I realize I think of the local Publix supermarket as my Publix and the neighborhood drugstore as my drugstore. I picked up a bread at the local Panera’s recently and left feeling that it might have been the last time I bought a challah (braided Sabbath bread) from my Panera’s. And what about the “Curves” workout center? I love my Curves, though I can’t say I actually get there all the time. Still, I feel I belong there. I also have a special feeling for the library near by having spent delightful hours just browsing through other people’s thoughts and ideas. I guess I’ll have to find a new veterinarian closer to my new home to take Lizzie to for her shots or when her tummy isn’t feeling well. And what about where I get my hair cut. Jessica and I have chatted over many a hair cut for a few years. I’m feeling a sense of loss, leaving all this familiarity behind.

Most of all, I’m missing my Mom. Her room is now entirely empty except for one rocking chair that was my Dad’s and the boxes I am now beginning to fill with the kitchen stuff I’ve started to pack. How is it that a person’s belongings, their stuff, lasts longer than they do? I know Mom is in glory with the Lord and my father. She’s enveloped in the joy of the presence of Jesus. So I have no grieving for her plight. It’s just that I miss sharing with her all the newness going on. This is the first time in all my days that I don’t have Mom to share and talk over what new thing is going on in my life. She was always my mother, but when we moved to Florida together on January 1st, 2004, she became my best friend as well. Perhaps this is one of the reasons it’ll be good to move. No more empty spaces that Mom used to fill in our home.

It’s funny about places and how the places change us. When I moved to where I live now, I knew none of the people that are now a part of my days and weeks. Now I think of them as mine, not that anyone at Panera, or the drug store, or Publix even knows my name. Trying to make the emotional transition, I went to the new Publix near where my daughter Ellen lives, which means where I will soon be living as well. I bought a few things and when I went to check out, the cashier looked like her face was glowing. She just radiated joy. There’s generally only one reason someone looks that radiant. I said something to her like, “You look like a blessed person.” She lit up even more if that’s possible. “I am,” she said and began to talk about Jesus and how He’s the reason for her joy. I Amen’d what she had to say, letting her know I’m a believer too. Then I told her, “I’m going to be moving into the area and I came to just check out the new Publix. It’s nice to meet a sister in the Lord here.” An older gentleman was bagging the food as we talked. Turning toward him she said, “This is Sam. He’s a brother in the Lord too.” He smiled a broad cheerful smile and said, “Welcome to our family.”

“We are a family here,” she said, “and we’re glad to welcome you to it.” I’m not sure if she meant the Pubix family or the fellowship of the two of them, as she told had me there are other believers working there as well. So while it’s not my Publix yet, it’s a good beginning toward feeling like I’m about to become part of the new neighborhood. Wherever the people of God are, you’re never an outsider or a newcomer for long.

Comparisons - Moving Journal #6

I've been to the library four times in the past two weeks for books on decorationg ideas. My father always used to tell me to make comparisons before making decisions. Even decorating decisions can be important if you're someone who's afffected by surroundings, color, feng shui, etc. I didn't know I was feng shui sensitive until I read it in one of the decorating books. Live and learn.
I've been dreaming furniture arrangements, walking through the rooms in my mind, trying to figure out where my furniture would fit into the apartment I've committed to live in, even though I haven't signed a lease.  Yesterday I went over to help Ginger pack some more for her move out next Friday, though admittedly it was with an alterior motive of trying to figure out where to put my own stuff there. When I left, I was still feeling like this was not really happening to me, and I again said, "Lord, if this isn't where You want me, please let me know."

Today a friend of mine came over to bring me a load of packing boxes she picked up for me at the Dollar store. She didn't even have to pay a dollar for them. She fished them out of their dumpster. "Y'know," she said, as we talked, "I'm not sure Ginger's apartment is where you're supposed to be." I told her I'd asked the Lord to let me know if it wasn't. "Let's go look at those new apartments near your daughter's," she said. "For some reason, I just think we should go look there." Perhaps this was the Lord's leading. I better go and look. So we did.

The posh apartment complex was spiffy new and yuppy equiped with all you could want. Decorator magazine picture-perfect, for sure. Well laid out and filled with light. But the new synthetic carpeting made my nose itch, and as elegant as it was, to me it seemed sterile. It had no stories to tell, no history to soften it. No character, especially not what my one-time 200 year old Pennslvania farm house had. Nah, not for me.

When we left the new complex which wasn't as near to my daughter's as Ginger's apartment is, we drove to my daughter's to say hello. Two of my teenage grandchildren were home and were so glad to see me, happy to have me stop by. They were both sick so I didn't want to get close to them. I just got an email from Jordan as I was writing this saying he wanted to hug me but being sick, knew he shouldn't. Ah, yes! Living in such close proximity to them would certainly provide the blessing of seeing the kids more often than I do now. There's a reason to live practically next door right there.

What this afternoon did for me was confirm for me that Ginger's soon-to-be-mine apartment was where I should be. Imperfect as it is, even if Richard the landlord doesn't replace the faucets, Ginger says they work fine. I believe it's where God want's me. That's enough for me. I'm at peace with it now.

Helping Ginger Pack - Moving Journal #5



Need new faucets?

Our ladies Bible study group went over to Ginger's to help her pack. It gave me another opportunity to look around the apartment and to see what I had gotten myself into. As the condos are not new, while I generally like homes that have a patina and some personality, some lived in quality, like it could tell you stories of what life has gone on in there over the years, (my favorite home was a 200 year old farmhouse in Pennsulvania I lived in for a number of years), now I was seeing wear and tear that was less then idyllic. Suddenly it seems like this is happening to someone else and I can't even begin to picture myself living there.

I had envisioned putting my writing desk under a window I could open to let the lovely curtains I planned to make flutter in the breeze while the smell of Spring and early summer came wafting through. But I discovered that behind Ginger's window-camouflaging drapes the window looked out on a parking lot and there sat a row of cars six feet away staring right at me through said window like they were saying, "We were here first." So much for that idyllic idea. Now I know the reason for Ginger's heavy drapes over the window.

While the other rooms were a good size, would the dining room would have room for my two wonderful cane bottom chairs that had belonged to my Dad and Mom which presently flank my antique-pitcher-collection-laden 1750's reproduction hutch? And would I ever have space to open the leaves of my table for dinner for more than six? What about my piano? Can you play a piano when you live in an apartment complex without having the neighbors complain even though I play lovely music that I'm sure they would like. Then there's the fixtures in the bathrooms. The worn faucets need to be replaced - badly. I tried to picture Richard, my new landlord, coming over with a wrench and a new set of faucets in hand. But I've never even met Richard. We've only had a phone conversation or two to agree on me living there at Ginger's recommendation. Would he be willing to come and install new ones?

Lord, are You sure this is where you want me? If it's not, please let me know pronto before I meet Richard next week.

Trading Spaces - Moving Journal #4

Amazing how God weaves things together. I was beginning to feel discouraged that any of the condo rental apartments I was looking at would be suitable for me to move to as the ones that were available required using community laundry facilities (way too much shlepping) and were not on the group floor (I'm an earth lover.) I had a condo once with a balcony on the fourth floor. I called it my tree house. For dog walking purposes, however, first floors are best and I wanted a patio. Ginger's apartment seemed like what I was looking for, but alas, Ginger lived in it.

Then I heard of a job opportunity with a ministry I work with that would be perfect for Ginger, I thought. Only it would require that she relocate. (Honest, I wasn't trying to get her out of her apartment, it just happened.) Short story, she loved the idea, interviewed for it and got the job. This ministry is the desire of her heart! She was willing to move up there, don't you know. So the trade is I tell her about the job and she tells her landlord about me. Result: She moves out and I move in! Ta dah!!

This all happened within a week or so of when I felt God was telling me to move near my daughter (see Moving Journal #1 below). The condo community is on the water, though unfortunately my unit isn't. But while walking Lizzie we can walk by the water's edge which, being in Florida, includes the most incredible skies and cloud formations. It's located on an inlet of the St. John's River, the only river in the world, incidentally, besides the Nile that flows south to north. From there I can see the dock by my daughter's house which is also on the inlet. My grandkids had the idea that they could get me a kayack or a canoe and I could paddle over. Cute, but I don't think so.