We're moving in a few weeks, again. North from the place we never thought we would leave.
If you've ever had a chance to hang out with us, we say that a lot. We've said that at least eight times in the last seven years. We've moved, oh, what six times in the last four years? I hate moving, but moving is like job hunting. We transplant across town to where living within our means is just another day.
We thought we'd never leave the apartment we've been renting since only January, but here we are, moving once more.
In the last five months a lot has changed. Some changes were expected. Some changes were not. Job changed. Interests changed. Diaper changes. Shan is almost finished with her undergrad courses. Then it's off to grad school. Her daughter changed schools. The toddlers are older. I've dived head first into app development and fiction writing. We've all changed with the changes in the economy...
But, we never thought we would be changing addresses, again, so soon.
We suspected we would at some point. Shan has career goals. She's been talking about what her options are for practicum hours and opportunities she would have after earning her master's degree. Plus the kids will be older. There's five of us. Lots of mouths to feed. Lots of room needed to play. Lots of challenges to undertake. Lots and lots more.
In the meantime, we're moving.
We're moving into the family house where her mom spent the last years of her life raising her three daughters, where we'll be responsible for our share of the utilities, some garden work (which I'm looking forward to, now that cooking is as natural to me as drawing), and some other TLC around the house.
No more rent.
No more security deposits.
No more sleepless nights because someone is trying to break into the apartment for the fifth time this week!
But who knows. We'll probably uproot sometime down the road just when we think everything is going well. We'll pack just to unpack...again.
Over the last few weeks we've been taking inventory of our things. There isn't much room for our stuff. We'll be renting a garage for whatever can't fit into the house. Although Shan's sister made a really good point today at lunch: What's the point of storing it for a long time? You won't get any use out of it.
We're so used to moving, the process has been engrained. We want to keep our stuff safe until we need it again. But when is that? In a few months? Years? Why not yard sale it? Well, that's when we realized we would need some storage in the rooms for our things. So, we started touring second hand stores.
Our first stop was Goodwill. We strolled around the store thinking about our plans for the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the kids room, the bathroom... the usual adventure in decorating, when we stumbled upon a few interesting items.
Shan's been in a French country mood lately. Anything that fits that design theme she wants to look at it and store a picture in her cell phone. She's got the bedroom mostly mapped out and now is starting to put together some of the visual details. I like her style choices. Now, it's just a matter of finding the right paint, creating the right mood, and finally settling down for a long time.
We want the kids to grow up in a house. Not an apartment. Apartment living has passed its expiration date. Our upstairs neighbors clean at 2 a.m. Can we complain? Sure. But why? We know the woman of the house works odd hours and the man of the house works even stranger hours.
The neighborhood isn't really all that bad. We're just home a lot. I've heard the conversations. Do they have money? They must. They never work. He never leaves. He's always home. The conversations are spoken in Spanish. I understand what they're saying. So, what? I work too. Just from home. I'm a graphic artist. I have a computer. Just because I'm not the typical worker bee, doesn't mean I don't work. But that's what started the rash of attempted break-ins. No, we're not rich. If we were would we be living in a densely populated city? Uh, no. It's time to move.
At the Goodwill, everything was color-coordinated. Clothes. Flatware. Shoes. Bowls. Candleholders. Shan noticed that and pointed it out. She also saw something that fit her French country motif and was set on buying it. It's a few bucks. Not a bank breaker. Meanwhile I was looking at some kitchen stuff. Most of it was used. I examined a few pieces not sure if I really wanted to add more cookery to the kitchen since what I'm really after is a server. But no luck on that front, so far.
My eyes suddenly fell onto a stack of trays. Hand-fashioned aluminum tea and serving trays. I lifted each one, admiring, examining the condition of each piece, and then I stumbled upon THE find.
I knew it wasn't aluminum. The plate was heavier. It was decorated with flowers in relief. My heart starts racing. I know vintage when I see it. I turn the plate over. Towle scrolled on the underside. 1967. The stock number... I look at the sticker price. I couldn't believe it. I felt transported. My imagination wrote an entire story with this plate as its centerpiece.
I know exactly what I'm going to do with this plate. Shan's mom enjoyed life the way few people do. When she went on her SoCal tag sales and flea market strolls she would often return home with some interesting piece of history. Sometimes that treasure held a lingering smile, like a tea pot or a blanket, the perfect conversation piece. Sometimes it was a pair of worn shoes that had some mileage on its heels. This plate would be used for holiday meals. It was vintage, just like her soul.
All because we were moving...