I recently moved.
I didn't want to move. (Had to because of
"the divorce")
I didn't want to do the work (mostly by myself) that would be involved.
I didn't want to spend the money ($3,000.00) to do the move.
I don't deal well with change.
I fretted over the unknown (of EVERYTHING).
I remember when I was 3, my dad got custody of my older brother (Christian, born on Christmas day) and myself , we had to move from my mom's apartment to my dad's apartment (in a big city, walking distance to a McDonald's). It was at Christmas time. I remember the action really and not the emotion. I know living with my dad I moved twice, from the apartment to a big white house (still in the city) with a forest behind it. I actually remember the woods being vast, but I was also only 4 at the time and don't really know how big the woods really were. But I remember gathering (OK eating) wild blackberries in those very woods. The yard with it's spatter of orchard trees was on a hill surrounding the two story home. I felt like a princess (Cinderella, to be exact. After-all, I had a step-mother and step-sister). We'd roll down the hill and eat pears from the trees, go "hunting" in the woods for fairies, howl at the moon, when it hung in the night sky, like a pack of wolves. I always felt at "home" in nature. I saw my first praying mantis at that house. I've never seen such a creature and I was scared and thrilled all at the same time. In the winter the land would be covered in the soft down of beautiful white snow. We'd be out for hours sledding down the hill, building forts and snowmen and teasing each other about the yellow snow. I was happy.
When I was 6, just started first grade, I had come home from a weekend at my mom's. By this time she too had moved (to another apartment, above a pet shop). My dad opened the door, but didn't let us in. He said something to my mom and then closed the door. My mom then ushered me back to the car and told my brother to put the suitcases back into the trunk. I was moving again. This was fantastic. I adored my mother. Living above a pet shop in a tiny town where everyone walks (rides a bike) everywhere, near the town park, ABOVE a pet shop (did I mention that part!!), was so cool. The apartment was tiny. My mom's boyfriend was a truck driver and wasn't always home. She did have a friend, Kathy, living with her. But she moved shortly after our arrival. (side note, I've often wondered if that friendship was strictly platonic) It only had two bedrooms and one bathroom that was split into two parts, one having the toilet and sink and then in another room just the shower, all in the master bedroom. I didn't mind sharing a room with my brother on short term basis, but it was increasingly difficult as this became our living arrangements. I didn't want him touching my
Barbie dolls and like wise I wasn't allowed to touch his comics (LOVE MARVEL COMICS). One time the bickering got so bad, my mother put duck tape over our mouths, made us hold hands and wear a sign that said: "I love my brother" and "I love my sister" and then took us down to the pet store. I don't think my mom was exactly prepared to be a parent.
We later moved to big white house, outside the town limits, but still in the county. I didn't change schools, but was back to riding a bus. This new home gave me a room all to myself, a dog, a cat, a pond, a playroom above a garage, a vegetable garden, a meadow (my happy place), a forest with a creek!!! (Yes it was soooo exciting and wonderful) I saw deer and beavers. I learned how to garden, shoot a gun, a bow, chop (and carry) wood, build a fire, respect fire (when my mom's boyfriend Dick showed us with a model home what a house fire looks like and how easy it went up. Still have nightmares: but it's mostly about the bus catching on fire before I get on it, outside that house), and making mud pies. My brother had his own room as well. I'd still bug him. He was always listening to Johnny Cash (which he told me
Ring of Fire was about sex) and playing with his army men or reading his comics. While we lived there (did I mention it was across from a golf course and a high-way separated us) I learned my brother wasn't very smart. It was fall and we were suppose to be outside cleaning up the yard and gathering firewood. But my weekly reader came in the mail and I couldn't wait to read it and do all the fun activities. I kept going into the house "to use the bathroom" and one time when I emerged from the house, there was my brother, steaming mad and demanded to know why I took so long. I told him I had to pee and poop and it takes a while. Then he said "Girls can't pee and poop at the same time" then he punched me in the shoulder and stormed off. Yep, I stood there in pain and laughed my ass off. To this day, the fact that he is three years(ish) older than me he treats me as if he has the wisdom of the ancients running through his veins and that he is vastly superior (intellectually) than me.
By 8, we moved again to a huge apartment complex (above a roller rink), back in town. No worries, I could walk to the park, school, library... everywhere. Including the cemetery (where I had my first smoke when I was 7) which was surrounded by (you guessed it) woods, that had a path that led to a college campus (where I attended pre-school at 3). The apartment we occupied had actually been three connected apartments. In my bedroom for example, was a door (that my mom kept the key for) that led to the outside. I didn't particularly like that bedroom. My mother's boyfriend, Dick, had died that year along with his brother in a terrible car accident. I think this was the beginning of my mom's unraveling. (but that story is for another time). She soon took up with a much younger man (Joe, an army soldier, to whom she quickly married). We moved (sorta) and I can't quite put a finger on how this was done. My mom kept her bedroom, the bathroom (which had one of those claw bathtubs that I just LOVE) and kitchen and living room, but now my bedroom was on the other side of the living room (it was much bigger and I shared it with my now only visiting brother), with another room on the other side of it, which had been a kitchen, but the stove and fridge were removed. I played house with the radiator and sink. Where my room (and other rooms) use to be were now walled off.
For unknown reasons, my mom wasn't happy with her decision to be married to Joe (even though he was deployed) and decided to divorce him and marry her long time friend Gene, who was living in Florida (of whom my grandmother use to work with in a factory, had been to the house in the county when my mom was living with Dick and to whom my brother and I stayed with during Dick's funeral).
Did you get all that? Chris was living with my dad, because he didn't want my mom to marry Joe. I only just started visiting my dad and his new wife. I was 9, just finished 4th grade and my dad (in his infinite wisdom) was suing my mom for custody of me. We all went to court. I wanted to be with my mom, plain and simple. So, we moved... TO FLORIDA! My mom's friend (pet shop owner, yes the one I use to live above) Jim, helped us pack everything up into his covered pick up truck and we drove from Pennsylvania to Florida, "vacationing" (taking in the sites) along the way. I had also gotten my first perm and glasses that year! I went from apartment city living to no-wheresville trailer park living... talk about culture shock! Good news... we had cable!
By the next year, about the time I turned 11 we moved (again). This time to (another white) house, just outside of the city limits. No cable. Four lane high-way in front. A junk yard in the back (that took years for my parents to clean up) An old man on one side, and a family of Jehovah's Witnesses on the other side, which next to them for about two years was a ranch (horses) family that eventually sold their property to a business man that cleared the land and built a gas station/convenient store (that later my mom actually managed). I was isolated. The orchard of my youth turned into a citrus grove and I didn't leave until I graduated high school.
Other people moved in and out of the house... My parents allowed a friend of theirs stay for along time. His name was Jerry. He worked with Gene. (I think) Chris moved in and out in his later teens. My mom had a baby, Frank when I was 14. Gene's parents moved a double wide trailer in the back yard and lived there til their deaths (old age).
So, 1990.... Graduated in May... Moved: To UofA, Tuscaloosa ALABAMA. Dorm room, two summer semesters, moved across the street to another dorm for fall semester. Came Home.
1991, spring... moved into an apartment (owned by Roland Martin, big fishing guy)
1991, summer... got room-mates moved into three bedroom trailer with a sun room. (got kicked out by the fall because the land-lords are racists!) NO LIE. One of the room-mates was dating a black guy.
1991, fall.. moved into a three bedroom house, fenced in yard and kept the owners two dogs. A German Shepard (we did rehome him, he was aggressive) and a Dalmatian, Bing.
1992, February(ish) moved to my grandparents old trailer with new room-mates Norm (a guy I worked with) and my brother Chris.
1992, summer moved to West Palm Beach, with friends (yep... during Hurricane Andrew)
1992, fall.... moved back in with parents... (oi! seriously)
1993 (April 1st, not a date you can forget) moved to Jasper, Alabama with my best friend Vanessa. We lived with her grandmother for a while (where we shared a bed, a car and a lie), then moved into a two bedroom trailer. Then I met a boy (don't even get me started), moved into a place with him in July.
1993 late August moved back to Florida, lived a few weeks with my parents before moving into my grandparents old trailer
1993 around thanksgiving, I moved back into my parents home (with a bundle of joy growing in my tummy)
1994 August... just before my birthday.. I (and son) move in with my soon to be husband.
1995 January... moved into MY GRANDPARENT'S OLD TRAILER, with my fiance, our son and another bundle of joy growing in my tummy (still not married)
1995 November moved to Emerald Isle, NC into an 8 bedroom beach house shared by, my hubby's parents, my hubby's brother, his wife and their son, and (believe it or not, it's a small world after all) a guy I went to school with, his wife and their two children.
1996 February, BACK to Florida (again, my home town) so hubby could manage his dad's campground. We lived in a triple-wide mobile home on the property.
1997 May, We traded in the triple wide from the 70's for a huge 4 bedroom 1997 Fleetwood double wide mobile home. (Our dream home)
1998 August, Hubby's dad died (May 1998), his mom sold the property/business and we were OUT of a home and a job and by the way, had child number 3 in March. So into town we go. A very small, cute three bedroom home (owned by an old high school friend of mine's parents) We lucked out about it being in town and near everything. Because we had to return the new(ish) car because of recent hike in living expenses and decrease of wages due to both of us getting new jobs and now down to a junky old pick up truck, which hubby usually drove to his job.
1999 End of August... Hubby laid off... Lease up on the rental.. we decide.. Lets move to North Carolina... His mom got us a three bedroom single wide trailer in the middle of now-where. And I built a life, a career, reverted to Paganism, realized I am bisexual, became independent (politically and environmentally) graduated college, my mother died and had baby number 4. Good Times... not really.
2006. MARCH. Debt paid off, careers going good, kids happy and we buy a house on Cambridge street. It's fate, right? My early years were spent in Cambridge Springs. We moved into a four bedroom, two and half bath, fireplace, dinning room, den, walk-through closest, 2,200(ish) square feet home, with a fenced in back yard, a HUGE shed, front lawn, landscaped with a fountain and reflecting pond, willow trees fruit trees and flowerbeds, the drive flanked with lighting. Life was so good.... I had work that I loved, wonderful kids, great friends. Then i lost my job and my marriage began to fall apart and no one was happy.
2010 April... Almost two years after my hubby moved out and we decided to get a divorce, he kicks me out. His version: I can't afford to support you anymore. My version: He stopped paying the child support arrangement we had. So, I moved, with my daughters (my son lives with the ex). into a barely 1,000 square feet 3 bedroom, two bath, tiny shed, sandy lawn, home. In the same neighborhood. Trying to build a life... Trying to have stability... Trying be remain calm....
As far as I know... This is where I am suppose to be. Again, in the moment (this is my life lesson) I am learning to accept the situation and make the best of it. Looking at the bright side of things.
It's my home... (well I'm renting) but, in my name
I'm finding strength and peace
I'm dealing with change
I'm home....(cause it where the heart is, not where you hang your hat)
Love & Light,
Ursala (the un-expert of moving) Penbroke
