Me: [Blah blah blah street address+ZIP]
Dad: Chicago?
Me: Yep.
Dad: America?
Me: I knew you would ask that.
Dad: Planet Earth?
Me: No, Ork.
Dad: Milkyway [sic] or Three Musketeers?
Me: Snicjers [sic]
Dad: Got it.
I was trying to be funny and write Snickers, but my phone has been all wonked up since I spilled water on it--I was moving, okay, and the water bottle I selected to keep me from heat stroke is missing its top, and I'm a dumbo--and so I have to hold it a certain way to see the screen and...this is all a very roundabout way of saying I mistyped "Snickers."
Then today, I received a package addressed to my old address. Inside was an envelope addressed to my new address. Inside that envelope was an envelope addressed thusly:
He sent me a suncatcher that belonged to my mom. I'm pretty sure it was a gift to her from someone--Aunt Shirley? Beth? Shannypoo?
Moving reminds me of her. It was a hard business when she drove Plum and I down to Chicago. A policeman yelled at her in front of Wrigley, and she snapped, "Do you really want to live in this place?" She hated the apartment Kate and I took over from friends. It was too dirty for her liking, and it had bars on the windows facing the fire escape. And she told me she cried all the way from the Addison Red Line stop to Midway Airport.
Sometimes I think of our mother-daughter relationship as one of leaving and returning: I often waited up at night for her to come back from her 3-11 shifts or from her leaving the house in a fit of pique to see Grandma Winnie; she waited for me to come back from England, only to take me to Chicago four years later. Maybe that's why the sensation of missing her hasn't hit me; maybe I'm still waiting.
She always told me that the first thing you should do in a new place after you've moved is make the bed. Since this move has been gradual, I have done many things before even bringing the bed over to the apartment. I'm torn between petulance and obedience: part of me wants to continue putting books on my bookshelves in an open act of defiance to her rule; part of me wants to make the bed as soon as the movers drop it off, if only to see if she gives some sign of approval.
Something about moving makes me so emotional. Maybe because I haven't done it that much in my life. And maybe because they've all been pretty traumatic. Heh. But now MY emotions about moving seem to have transferred over to other people's stories about moving, and this is all my roundabout way of saying I'm tearing up at my desk at work reading this.
ReplyDeleteMy mom also told me the first thing to do in a new place is to make the bed, and I've done it, even when my bed was on the floor in St. Paul that first week.
I love this whole entry, even if it makes me get a lump in my throat.
Kristi, I'm sorry I made you get misty at CM. I mean, you probably already cry there for other reasons, but... :-)
DeleteI understand still waiting, and I hope you made the bed. Your dad cracks me up and I love reading what you have to say, even when it brings tears with the laughs. Congratulations on the new place!
ReplyDeleteWhat are you doing reading boogers? You're supposed to be helping Tracey birth her baby!
DeleteI think you and I have similar-but-different experiences where our moms sort of disappeared one day, and we were so tied to them that it seems unnatural that they would leave without saying goodbye or something.
I'm glad you are having good and bittersweet memories as you are moving into your new place. I think moving unearths a lot of things we forget about, plus you're settling into your own place for the first time. Everything there is yours, and so much of it has sentimental value. Enjoy it, and make your bed as soon as you can. :)
ReplyDeleteAnd keep telling us stories about it; I love reading them.
I might have to wait to make the bed until the movers leave. I don't think I'll be able to concentrate on making the bed if the cats are upset and hiding under it.
DeleteThank you; you're my #1 promoter at Google+.
Hi sweetie- wasn't a gift from me, wish it had been though. It would make me so happy to know you had something there with you that was given to your mom from me. I love reading your passages, perhaps you'll put them all into a book one day and get them published ? What a beautiful tribute to your mom that would be. I have the same type of one way conversation in my head often-one example has to do with my awful sense of direction, which your mom thought was hilarious by the way! She used landmarks to guide me to meet her at places after you guys moved "up north", and I always made it, and when we met she would immediately make a huge fuss about the best way back home, knowing I would stress if I was worried about getting back home! Now if I'm finding somewhere for the first time I hear her voice,telling me to look for landmarks, and it always makes me smile! Enjoy your new place and make your bed! Love you, Shannon
ReplyDeleteI know that there are a number of your painted animal and scenic rocks at Dad's. Next time I'm home I'll take one or two with me. I'm glad to know you would like me to have them.
DeleteI don't know why Mom would ever make fun of your sense of direction, because she was the WORST. One night we left the Ordway, and with all the confidence in the world, she started walking in absolutely the wrong direction to get to the car.
I wish I heard her more often. She was always so funny.
I love you too, and thank you for sharing all of that. I want you to know that after all these comments about getting teary-eyed, you gave me the gift of a lump in my throat.