The Last Moving Week
Just when we were dangerously close to loosing our sense of humor over boxes and bags, Dad was the bright spot in our moving weak. After tearing himself away from his haven on the farm, and taking the much dreaded 7-hour drive (in the pick-up!) to Denver, he arrived at our door relaxed and smiling. Oh what a beautiful sight. By this time, I was spinning. We had arrived back a few days before from a trip to Indianapolis where we completed last minute business for Global Ministries including a medical and psychological exam, pictures taken, financials finalized. We had come home to an apartment that had not cleaned itself while we were gone (where is I Love Genie, anyway? I’m sure I rubbed MULTIPLE vases in the packing process and wiggled my nose a dozen of times with all the dust stirred). Sometimes walking into a BIG JOB to finish is a little paralyzing, but seeing Dad’s face brought the energy I needed. Dad was here. No cape needed, just the Superman that he is.
We had fun first. Despite being in the city that gives him ulcers and GI upset, he seemed relaxed the whole time, even the morning we were packing everything up. His gift to me, I suppose. Sunday night after he arrived, we grabbed late night breakfast in a dive that P and I love... catching up on the goings-on at home, on the tasks left to do, on our trip to Indy. The next morning Dad came to clinic with me to observe me work. I thought he'd be board, but in typical PaPa fashion, he made friends with everyone in the clinic, and even learned to use the mouse on the computer. We then met up with Patrick for lunch down town, and took a long walk down the 16th street mall to see what we could see during the Democratic Convention.
People watching with Dad was priceless. We sought out the small pockets of protesters exercising their First amendment rights surrounded by the fleets of policemen in riot gear. One carried a “Fox News Speaks the Truth, and All Else Is Lies” plaque card. He marched by himself. Anti-war demonstrators were beginning to gather for a rally. Another group warned of the sins of “homo sex” and other such abominations in the eyes of a judgmental and unforgiving God. A small little parade of protesters, all women, marched with their “Hillary For President” signs cheering for a recount. But the biggest spectacle of all on that Monday morning—early in the convention—was the police force. Police were in cars, on motorcycle, on foot, and on horseback. Police lined along the edges of trucks, ready to jump down and break up lawlessness the minute it broke out. Police dressed in riot gear with clubs and canisters, handcuffs and shields. If something was going down, they were over-ready for it. Their presence seemed daunting on a relatively quiet protester presence. After all the observing and pushing ourselves through the crowd, we needed a nap.
In the evening, Dad, Patrick and I spent the evening on the patio, laughing and telling stories. Dad was laughing that red-faced laugh that makes me so happy. I loved that he and Patrick were having fun together—so rare with our schedules. Conversation continued into the night, with us all lying around the living room floor (not a chair to sit in), talking until we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer. That was my favorite day.
On moving day, both dad and I woke with TASKS at the forefront of our minds. I forced him to have a cup of coffee with me before we started. All the while sipping his coffee, he was talking through how he was going to put what where in the back of the truck (the puzzle being constructed in his mind). With Patrick's help, we had the truck loaded in an hour. And then BonVoyage to Daddy as he took off to Kansas with what was left of our worldly possessions. Couldn't have done it without him, and loved the one-on-one time we had. He has helped me with so many moves… to college, in and out of one dorm room to another, out of Kansas City and back in. And never does he complain or yell at me, “would you STOP the MOVING already? GROW SOME ROOTS!” Even though he still lives in the house his grandfather lived in, and can’t possibly understand my wanderlust, he tolerates me patiently, sweating and hauling and muscling boxes with a cheery demeanor. I am a lucky daughter.
Yesterday Patrick and I dove hard into the house tying up loose ends. We worked well together. And now the apartment is empty :) Done. It’s a miracle. I never thought it would end.
So we are finished. Packed. The apartment is polished and vacant. And with the last box brought up to the car, a chapter closes.
I look around the empty rooms of our apartment, now fresh and clean, and reflect on the memories made here. Some of my favorites came in the day-in and day-out activities such as movie night with dogs squeezed around us on the futon and kitty on the ottoman. I loved when I would notice Sadie waiting patiently by the side of my bed in the wee hours of the morning ready and eager for our morning run, the wag of her tail against the bed when my alarm would go off—unable to contain her joy. I always got a tug at the heart when sleepy Duke would wander with half-opened eyes out to greet me every time I got home. Kitty entertained us when she would come in each evening loudly scolding and announcing her presence, demanding food and affection. I remembered all the dinner parties and slumber parties with loved ones, pumpkin carvings and St. Patrick’s day dinners, grilling out on the patio, collapsing in the living room post-call and spooning the puppies for a long afternoon nap, bird catching after kitty brought in a new not-so-dead treasure, long mornings on the weekend sipping coffee on the patio and slowly waking up. These little apartment walls bore remembrance to a lot of simple moments of contentment, a lot of joyous celebrations and fun, years of growth, discovery and challenge. Even in its emptiness, it remembered.
We have lived in so many houses, and each has hosted unique memories of friends made, decisions pondered, life enjoyed. Leaving this little space for the great unknown seems unsettling. Boxes won’t be unpacked tomorrow… or the next day. Boxes will stay packed for years while we embark on our new chapter. Now, we give up the security of a home base for a more transient existence. We’ll live out of suitcases, and rely on the hospitality of friends and family for a warm bed and shelter. Now we give up control on some level, accepting help from our community. We are challenged to find peace in living out of our cars while in transition. We accept a dose of chaos in the pursuit of something bigger for our lives.
After the packing and cleaning was done, lightness. I felt free in the completion of a huge project. Then, sadness followed. We have been rushed and focused. Now I want some of those “lasts” to revel in that will not come. I want one last walk around the block with our animal parade; I want one more cup of coffee enjoyed on the patio. I want one more sleepy morning, one more afternoon in the park. But there ultimately comes a time to take the next step, and after thanking the apartment for keeping us safe and allowing us to enjoy life within, I said a little prayer, turned my back, locked my door and emerged into the brightness of a brand new day.
Just when we were dangerously close to loosing our sense of humor over boxes and bags, Dad was the bright spot in our moving weak. After tearing himself away from his haven on the farm, and taking the much dreaded 7-hour drive (in the pick-up!) to Denver, he arrived at our door relaxed and smiling. Oh what a beautiful sight. By this time, I was spinning. We had arrived back a few days before from a trip to Indianapolis where we completed last minute business for Global Ministries including a medical and psychological exam, pictures taken, financials finalized. We had come home to an apartment that had not cleaned itself while we were gone (where is I Love Genie, anyway? I’m sure I rubbed MULTIPLE vases in the packing process and wiggled my nose a dozen of times with all the dust stirred). Sometimes walking into a BIG JOB to finish is a little paralyzing, but seeing Dad’s face brought the energy I needed. Dad was here. No cape needed, just the Superman that he is.
We had fun first. Despite being in the city that gives him ulcers and GI upset, he seemed relaxed the whole time, even the morning we were packing everything up. His gift to me, I suppose. Sunday night after he arrived, we grabbed late night breakfast in a dive that P and I love... catching up on the goings-on at home, on the tasks left to do, on our trip to Indy. The next morning Dad came to clinic with me to observe me work. I thought he'd be board, but in typical PaPa fashion, he made friends with everyone in the clinic, and even learned to use the mouse on the computer. We then met up with Patrick for lunch down town, and took a long walk down the 16th street mall to see what we could see during the Democratic Convention.
People watching with Dad was priceless. We sought out the small pockets of protesters exercising their First amendment rights surrounded by the fleets of policemen in riot gear. One carried a “Fox News Speaks the Truth, and All Else Is Lies” plaque card. He marched by himself. Anti-war demonstrators were beginning to gather for a rally. Another group warned of the sins of “homo sex” and other such abominations in the eyes of a judgmental and unforgiving God. A small little parade of protesters, all women, marched with their “Hillary For President” signs cheering for a recount. But the biggest spectacle of all on that Monday morning—early in the convention—was the police force. Police were in cars, on motorcycle, on foot, and on horseback. Police lined along the edges of trucks, ready to jump down and break up lawlessness the minute it broke out. Police dressed in riot gear with clubs and canisters, handcuffs and shields. If something was going down, they were over-ready for it. Their presence seemed daunting on a relatively quiet protester presence. After all the observing and pushing ourselves through the crowd, we needed a nap.
In the evening, Dad, Patrick and I spent the evening on the patio, laughing and telling stories. Dad was laughing that red-faced laugh that makes me so happy. I loved that he and Patrick were having fun together—so rare with our schedules. Conversation continued into the night, with us all lying around the living room floor (not a chair to sit in), talking until we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer. That was my favorite day.
On moving day, both dad and I woke with TASKS at the forefront of our minds. I forced him to have a cup of coffee with me before we started. All the while sipping his coffee, he was talking through how he was going to put what where in the back of the truck (the puzzle being constructed in his mind). With Patrick's help, we had the truck loaded in an hour. And then BonVoyage to Daddy as he took off to Kansas with what was left of our worldly possessions. Couldn't have done it without him, and loved the one-on-one time we had. He has helped me with so many moves… to college, in and out of one dorm room to another, out of Kansas City and back in. And never does he complain or yell at me, “would you STOP the MOVING already? GROW SOME ROOTS!” Even though he still lives in the house his grandfather lived in, and can’t possibly understand my wanderlust, he tolerates me patiently, sweating and hauling and muscling boxes with a cheery demeanor. I am a lucky daughter.
Yesterday Patrick and I dove hard into the house tying up loose ends. We worked well together. And now the apartment is empty :) Done. It’s a miracle. I never thought it would end.
So we are finished. Packed. The apartment is polished and vacant. And with the last box brought up to the car, a chapter closes.
I look around the empty rooms of our apartment, now fresh and clean, and reflect on the memories made here. Some of my favorites came in the day-in and day-out activities such as movie night with dogs squeezed around us on the futon and kitty on the ottoman. I loved when I would notice Sadie waiting patiently by the side of my bed in the wee hours of the morning ready and eager for our morning run, the wag of her tail against the bed when my alarm would go off—unable to contain her joy. I always got a tug at the heart when sleepy Duke would wander with half-opened eyes out to greet me every time I got home. Kitty entertained us when she would come in each evening loudly scolding and announcing her presence, demanding food and affection. I remembered all the dinner parties and slumber parties with loved ones, pumpkin carvings and St. Patrick’s day dinners, grilling out on the patio, collapsing in the living room post-call and spooning the puppies for a long afternoon nap, bird catching after kitty brought in a new not-so-dead treasure, long mornings on the weekend sipping coffee on the patio and slowly waking up. These little apartment walls bore remembrance to a lot of simple moments of contentment, a lot of joyous celebrations and fun, years of growth, discovery and challenge. Even in its emptiness, it remembered.
We have lived in so many houses, and each has hosted unique memories of friends made, decisions pondered, life enjoyed. Leaving this little space for the great unknown seems unsettling. Boxes won’t be unpacked tomorrow… or the next day. Boxes will stay packed for years while we embark on our new chapter. Now, we give up the security of a home base for a more transient existence. We’ll live out of suitcases, and rely on the hospitality of friends and family for a warm bed and shelter. Now we give up control on some level, accepting help from our community. We are challenged to find peace in living out of our cars while in transition. We accept a dose of chaos in the pursuit of something bigger for our lives.
After the packing and cleaning was done, lightness. I felt free in the completion of a huge project. Then, sadness followed. We have been rushed and focused. Now I want some of those “lasts” to revel in that will not come. I want one last walk around the block with our animal parade; I want one more cup of coffee enjoyed on the patio. I want one more sleepy morning, one more afternoon in the park. But there ultimately comes a time to take the next step, and after thanking the apartment for keeping us safe and allowing us to enjoy life within, I said a little prayer, turned my back, locked my door and emerged into the brightness of a brand new day.
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