Never too old to dream.

This week one of my dreams is coming true.  One of my adult children, along with her husband and three children, are moving “home” to my town.  She left for college at 18 and never looked back, or so I thought.  She was looking back, however, and a spark for living in her hometown became a flame…and oh, enough with being poetic! I am doing cartwheels over here I am so happy.

All three of my kids left for parts unknown, or Indianapolis, when they were finished with college.  While the oldest didn’t quite finish his education at Indiana University, he didn’t move home, either.  Now living in LA, I only get to see him once or twice a year, three times if I am lucky.  His visits are always welcome, and never long enough. The two girls both married boys from other towns and settled in Indianapolis right out of college.  An absolutely great town, we have enjoyed many wonderful times in Indianapolis, with lots more to come as we love that town, and our youngest, with her adorable family, still lives there.

Many times over the years friends and family have asked “Do you think one of the kids will move home?” and our answer was always “No”.  Both of our sons-in-law, and this daughter, are in technology related fields.  There’s not a lot of their particular kind of work in Northern Indiana, folks.  But, through advancement of “remote” opportunities, both are keeping their current jobs and will be working remotely.

We spent time in Indianapolis this weekend packing up the house they have lived in for twelve years.  It was bittersweet.  Their place served as “home base” for many family events.  We have had great times in their home, on their deck. Even hugely pregnant with her first baby, they opened their home to host wedding events for her younger sister, who married in Indianapolis, ten years ago.  That house on Lincoln Court is special for all of us, for many reasons.  I wish I could tell you how many times my husband has said “I love that deck”.

 

Yesterday was bittersweet for all of us as we packed boxes and loaded the truck.  I was lucky to get to empty the bookshelf of all the photo albums and spent a couple minutes flipping through pages and memories, oh so many memories.  I am so looking forward to what’s ahead…much to do as the house they are moving into is a bit smaller, with less storage, is on a great lot, on the lake she grew up on, a fantastic place to raise their family.  Oh and is less than five minutes from ME!

As my nine-year-old granddaughter said a couple of times on Saturday as she and I packed up her room “This is really happening! I have butterflies!”  Yes, my love, I know the feeling!

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Ribbons of thought.

When I was a much younger human, I was separated from my half-siblings.  Raised with my brother and sister, my family also included three half-brothers and a half-sister, all at least ten years older than myself.  My parents had each been married before, each having two children.

Now, my dad’s two kids were with their mother most of the time and we rarely saw them.  My mom’s boys, however, were with our grandmother and we saw them on summer breaks and holidays.  There’s a lot I don’t understand about how that all played out, and some of the details have gone to the grave with the players, but, I would guess the parties involved all thought they were doing the right thing.

 

I was raised well.  We were expected to behave properly, with manners, and with a full understanding of what was right and wrong.  We often dined in public, in restaurants, as we traveled, and were expected to know how to act. My parents were often complimented on our appearance and behavior.  Given that we moved so much, it’s a wonder we functioned, but we did. We adjusted, for sure.

I was thinking this week how much time I have spent in this little town I call home.  Never far from my address, I know this property well having walked it for forty years.  However, I can’t recall the names of towns I lived in as a kid there were so many. Moses Lake, Washington is one I remember because it’s a funny name and because I remember my mom use to regularly report it was 114 degrees there once.  I don’t know how long we were there but I think I was in second grade.  My younger brother was to be right behind me in first grade but hadn’t attended kindergarten yet so had to do that in Moses Lake.  I remember my mom being kind of upset by that, and I am not sure why. 

It is funny as we get older how things pop into our head, as clear as if they had happened yesterday.  Of course, we probably have all had the experience of a smell bringing a memory back, unprompted and sometimes shockingly clear. Once a faint smell of leather brought my dad to me, coming in from work and the three of us kids fighting over who would help him take off his work boots. Him sitting down with a cold beer, a plate of saltines and cheese, maybe braunschweiger or just a handful of mixed nuts.  My mom always had something ready for him to nibble on as she cooked dinner.  He would then go in to shower, coming back out in a white tee shirt and slacks, wet hair combed back.  Sometimes he would have a second beer, sometimes he would have a "highball", offering to make one for mom, which she usually declined. We would run outside until dinner, playing in and around his pickup truck, while he relaxed from his day and watched the news, read the paper.    

Some memories are gone as quickly as they came. Some hang around a bit, turning over and around, playing a bit of hide and seek, letting themselves float back up more readily than before. I can bring these memories of my dad to the surface quicker now, I guess because I've allowed them to linger.  Lately, I find myself wishing I could ask my mom some of the questions that now circle around some of my memories, that I could tie some of those ribbons together. Like, what's a highball anyway? What in the world is in braunschweiger or am I better off not knowing?     

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