Tears

Look at my tissue box. It has a map on it. As I open the box, I pull off most of North America. I've lived there, and there and there. I have lived in every section of the United States plus British Columbia, Canada. I have lived in some places as a child in my natal family, some with my first husband, some with my second, some with just children, and some as a single person. Generally speaking, even when moving away from a place I liked, there was some anticipation for the new adventures to come. This time, there are just tears.

Everyone said how awful it would be to move to New England. "They are so closed in their society--no one new is accepted. Period." That's what I was told, by not one person, but by many--some who'd even lived in New England. I was leaving the familiar town of my youth, my family, and everything familiar. Tears would have been reasonable, but there were none. Cold hands, warm heart is what I say. I loved New England, my children loved New England, my husband loved New England, heck, two of my kids were even born in New England!

Moving to the South [in August--from northern New England!] was an especially difficult move. I was scared of The South. When I saw my first KKK'ers up close [fortunately I was in my car I floored it!] I couldn't understand the people I lived among. Literally--the southern accent is very slow speech--especially so after the down east of northern Maine! Many times there were tears--of frustration, loneliness and despair, until I finally made a friend [of course, we couldn't talk over the phone, only in person, because I could not understand anyone over the phone for a full year!] and slowly I began to learn...it's the heat, everything moves more slowly, even the speech. But it doesn't mean people are stupid--just different. After four years I was finally pretty well adjusted, had my activities, loved my school, principal and other teachers...and we joked that 'Mom's feet left drag marks behind the U-Haul as we left!' But it was off to a new adventure--and that was just the journey.

Finally to the Mexican border...and the English was so fast I could barely understand it, let alone the Spanish! As time went by, I sped up, my ears sped up and soon I could keep up. My students never caught on that I could understand their Spanish, however...I had a bilingual aide, so it worked better that way. Lots of trouble was averted because they would talk openly in front of me--in Spanish, thinking I was too stupid for words! Ha! That's all I have to say. Within a few months, I again had my activities and friends and for me all went pretty well in that regard. I was sad to move away so soon, but looked forward to the southeast.

The East Coast has so much history to explore. Williamsburg, VA has been one of my all time favorite places to visit since the family trip in the mid 1960's. I still love it. Life there didn't fall into place so easily, however, and I never really had my own activities or friends. After eight years I'd personally seen as much as I wanted to see in that area of the country, and the kids and I were usually going far afield on our trips! So when we learned we were moving to North Dakota [where I have cousins] I was actualy quite excited. I've liked ND since my first trip there in '69. So I packed, then left to visit one of my kids elsewhere. The phone rang, my husband said, "We are not moving to ND after all," pregnant pause during which I screamed in my head--you mean I did all that packing for NOTHING?--he continued, "We're moving to Ohio instead."

As all who know me personally, or through blogging, are well aware...I love my village. I love my ward. I love my friends. Although I have no local family, I feel as if I do, for everyone has become family...friends, neighbors, villagers, I am involved! I have my activities etc. Life has been very good. I've really enjoyed my home...working on my house, making a home...

I am very grateful that my husband is once again gainfully employed. I just wish it could have been here! I know it is rather selfish of me, but I do NOT WANT to move. It is coming. I am leaving. For awhile I pretended it was just that I didn't look forward to the climate of the Gulf Coast. But the cold, hard, reality is that I do not want to leave my home and friends and active involvements here. But I am going to do it, and the time is coming quickly now...less than a month. So I cry. The emotions have to spill over somewhere! With me, they're spilling out. Tears, welling, overflowing, streaming, damped down and wiped off, only to start anew at the slightest reminder. Tears come during the very fine Sacrament talk given by one of the Elders on friendships. Tears come again after church when I attempt to tell him my opinion that he gave a good talk. And again when I'm asked when I'm leaving--and the choir director tries to schedule a performance before that time because I had mentioned that I've sorta sung that song in several wards--but always moved before it was performed. Tears--it's going to happen here again. Tears as I planted my flowers and a small garden, why? Because I just had to do it! This is my home and it was time to get the plants in the ground. Tears for all the projects I didn't get to complete. Tears for all the projects I didn't get to start. Tears to give up the SS calling I never wanted! Tears to leave the Family History Center--even though I am quite certain there is one where I am going! So many other tears that I cannot list them all, but they keep pouring.

I know that I can make a home basically anywhere. It might not be the same, but it will be fine in the long run. Right now, however, let me just emote. Excuse me, I need a new box of tissue.