Notes from the road

We're about halfway through our summer visits to family and friends. As we were driving across Missouri nearly a week ago, I tried to calculate the number of times we have made the drive between my husband's family's house in Oklahoma City to my parent's house in Indiana.  We've done this trip at least once a year, and many years twice, ever since we started dating. It takes 12 to 13 hours, depending on the number of stops and traffic situations.  The trip is long and flat.  The largest city on the route is St. Louis.  In some respects, the drive is restful because it is so familiar and predictable.  There's the exit for walnut bowls, the one for the world's largest rocking chair, the one for the enormous sheet metal cross.  We sometimes try to stop at the last/first Braum's, depending on the direction we are heading, in Missouri.  We have a contest to see who first spies the St. Louis Arch, the Gateway to the West.  We expect to have rain as we drive through the Ozarks. I felt a twinge of frustration when thinking about the many hours we have spent in the car without seeing much of the country, but there's something to be said for becoming familiar with a place, even if it is a stretch of highway.

My mom pointed out tonight, as we sat around comparing notes about accidents that we have seen, that it is really a little miraculous with as much driving as we do, that we haven't been involved in more accidents.  We did have two incidents on this trip: once we nearly got rear-ended in a traffic jam, and another time my husband sneezed while driving and when he looked up, had to swerve into another lane to avoid moving a slow moving grandpa in a pickup.  Our car, laden with a car-top carrier and plastic bins on the back hitch tray, fishtailed a couple of times before my husband got it back under control.  My daughter asked, "Why did you do that, Daddy?" as if he had swerved on purpose.  A flood of adrenalin made my hands shake for a few minutes afterward. But perhaps because we have 8 guardian angels on duty, we were all just shaken and nothing was damaged.  So many stories don't end that way.

Going back to the theme of familiar places: yesterday we drove by the house where my siblings and I grew up and then cruised through the town where I went to high school.  Seeing the old home place, a nondescript two story home, was an odd emotional experience.  We stopped at the end of the driveway to stare for a few minutes, and I wanted both to hide and to proclaim a bit of ownership in the history of this house.  A man I didn't recognize mowing the lawn at the house next door appeared suspicious, but a friendly wave seemed to satisfy his curiosity. But it didn't take away the feeling of trespassing that nibbled at my conscience.  We were uninvited gawkers who felt possessive. That was MY room.  My rabbits lived behind that shed.  I posed for pictures with my new fiance in front that THAT garage. I wonder if the bricks still betray evidence of my sister's little car accident.  Once spindly trees that my dad planted are now shading the roof. But that's not our truck in the driveway...

After surreptiously snapping a few photos to reminisce over later, we drove on through the town to get to my aunt and uncle's house.  A lot of things remain the same: the drive-through soft-serve ice cream place still had customers at the picnic tables.  The Lions' Club was advertising a barbecue. The main street still has houses with handpainted signs selling tomatoes and miniature horses.  But Main Street is now interrupted by a stop light and a McDonald's.  This town was small enough when I was growing up that you always were looking out to see someone you knew.  It hasn't grown so much that I didn't still half crane my neck to see and half hide so as not to be seen by someone I knew.  My 20 year high school reunion should be this year, but I'm more than a little relieved that no one has planned it so that I don't have to feel guilty about not going or compelled by curiosity to attend.  Someone said earlier in the week that Facebook could make reunions obsolete: you  could find out about your classmates' personal lives fairly easily if you wanted to without getting dressed up for a reception.

But nothing beats a personal visit, which is why we keep making these drives. It's nice to see people on their home turf.  People behave differently when they are on their own territory, and not being polite at someone else's home or a neutral meeting ground. Although I love for family and friends to visit me, I also enjoy seeing them in their native habitat.  So we keep showing up, eating their food, and creating piles of dirty laundry. I like to think they appreciate the company.

And we're off...

Farewell for a bit, friends! The packers have everything boxed except the computer, the mattresses, and a large stack of stuffed animals that my six year old had tried to stuff in his backpack.  I passed a limit of only two. When the packers arrived Tuesday morning, we were still groggy from watching fireworks at the beach on the Fourth of July. We were expecting a couple little old ladies, since the company had said they would need three days to pack all of our junk. But five strong men showed up and went immediately to work. They practically had the entire house finished yesterday.  I sent the kids to their rooms to gather everything they would need for our month of travel, and they all burst into tears, as if they didn't realize we were actually leaving until just that minute.  Meanwhile, I had to fly to get everything I needed into the laundry room, too, and then start cranking out clean sheets as fast I as could so they could get packed, and we could deliver our 2 year old washer/dryer to its new home.  (I'm now a fan of Craigslist.)

That all is accomplished, as is the scouring of 2 out of 3 bathrooms and the front room.  It's amazing how dirty everything can get in 2 years. Dust is everywhere. I don't have any illusions of being a great housekeeper, but when I see the size of the dustballs under the couch and all the dirt under the area rug, I feel a little itchy. Or maybe that's allergies.

Unless I get inspired while on vacation, the next posting will come from the other side of the world. Happy summer!

Moving quick takes

Friday already. It’s easy to remember First Friday when it is July 1. One week left in Mississippi. The storage company movers just left. A lesson learned: ask questions before they load all your packed up stuff onto a truck. And ask the right guy. Two guys were putting the last boxes on the truck when I asked where they were taking everything. Unfortunately, the storage facility is not north of I-10, which means it is at greater risk of getting wiped out by a hurricane. But there won’t be another Katrina in the next three years, right? One guy said they didn’t get any hurricane damage; another guy said only one wall had to be removed and replaced because of water damage up about 30 inches. When I asked if the facility was climate controlled, one guy said yes, and the other guy said no. But then the no guy clarified, “Once they shut the door it’s climate controlled!” Then he said he usually tells people not to wipe their furniture down with furniture polish, because they wrap it in paper and sometimes the paper sticks to the polish and leaves wavy lines.


Great. I used furniture polish this morning for the first time in about a year. 15 or 20 photo albums are going into a storage unit without a dehumidifier. My sets of Harvard Classics and Great Books are already feeling the pain of intemperate treatment; they’ll probably crumble to dust when I open them again in a few years. My old dolls that I forgot I had in a closet until yesterday will be melted goo.

I keep trying to remind myself that it’s only stuff. Only stuff. Only stuff. It is probably safer in storage than riding on a ship across the ocean and then being crammed into a place that is too small to accommodate the extra books and dining room furniture where a typhoon might wipe out everything. It’s only stuff, right? And a few memories. Maybe if all this stuff gets ruined in storage, my kids will thank me because they won’t have to deal with my old mementoes – and their old school work-- when I die.

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To take my mind off potential loss and disaster, here are the highlights of the week, besides our date night Tuesday. Yesterday the five year old asked who God’s mom is, which set the six year old to wondering who made Heaven, and if God made Heaven where was He before He made Heaven. And if he’s everywhere, where is Heaven. I had a hard time trying to explain timelessness, incorporality, and infinity. Time to brush up on my metaphysics.

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When discussing what local foods we’ll miss when we leave the South, crawfish (which we called crawdads when I was growing up, and we didn’t eat them) came up. My eleven year old commented “You don’t get full of crawfish, you just get tired” And messy. What I’ll miss: beans and rice. Especially the cans of Cajun red beans that come in the blue and white cans. If I had one left I’d tell you what brand they were. I think I better take some with me. I also will probably try to sneak some packets of gumbo roux in some box before we go. My husband will miss Lazy Magnolia beer.

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I will also miss my dog. He is going to stay with family until we get settled, which will probably be when we move back from Guam. We went to the vet one last time together yesterday. There were several other dogs there for check-ups, too, but I have to brag that my dog was the best behaved, although he whined a little and drooled a lot out of desire to play. I will not miss having to pick up his incontinence medicine.

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From Melanie, I saw the post at bearing’s blog about empty cupboard meals. Tonight my husband made enchiladas with refried beans and corn. The kids gobbled them up. Then they asked for more, but there the cupboard is empty of tortillas. We’ve eaten all the frozen meat. What’s left? Wheat pancake mix, cereal, oatmeal, grits, cream of wheat. We’re either going to be eating breakfast for dinner the next few days or we’ll have to make one last run to the store. Oh, we also have 4 containers of peanut butter and 5 cans of green beans and a can of pumpkin. Can I make some kind of Thai soup with that?

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Another good quote: "Solvitur ambulando," which is “It is solved by walking.” Running and walking have been my sanity lately. I love the Nike GPS app. Finally an app I use. And finally a running tracker with fairly accurate mileage.  I think I am going to try to run 1000 miles in a year.

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If moving doesn’t wipe out our finances, car repairs will. Both cars just had work done that cost over $1000 each. I hate car repairs. I’m trying to console myself with the thought that we’re doing something good for the environment by keeping these cars out of the landfills, but I’m secretly hoping that our black car slips off the back of the ship and sinks into the Pacific Ocean.

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One good thing about moving: I have removed a lot of little doodads from our life. I’ve sorted out all the dying markers and scraps of fabric and stained t-shirts. I walked into St. Vincent de Paul yesterday and before I got to the warehouse, I had given away 2 tarps and a blanket. One of the workers said they would take any food we had left, even open containers, because the food pantry is so low. Reminded me that we abundantly blessed even if we lose all our photos.

Thanks, Jen, for hosting. Hilarious photoshop work.