It’s been one year since we packed up Low House and left Illinois.
That day was bananas. I mean, we watched the moving guys load up a 2000-sq-ft house, and all the stuff in it–and we are stuff-heavy people, if you know what I mean–and then, when they were done, we drove five hours to Des Moines for the night. We had Pudding with us, so we needed a pet-friendly hotel, and in the frantic chaos of packing we hadn’t researched what hotels those might be.
Suffice it to say, the motel we ended up in wasn’t very nice. Not that night, or the night after. On the third night we booked the La Quinta in Bozeman, Montana, and when we walked into our huge semi-suite with a king-size bed for us and foldaway for Mimi, two televisions, huge new bathroom, and comfy, coooooomfy bed, I said “Booking Dot Yeah!”
Anyway. A year since we left Illinois. Have I regretted it? No. Western Washington is gorgeous. I love The Brambles. I love how many things there are to do here. I love the weather, for pete’s sake, even though as summer goes on and the daily high is still ~70F, I begin to wonder if there’s any point in setting up our inflatable pool.
Of course there are moments. Moments I remember how entrenched we were at Low House. How familiar it was. How I was pregnant there, and went into labor there, and spent the long newborn days and nights there. How I knew how to get everywhere, and when to go there, and what to do there. Snow is gone to us, and blazing summer heat, too. Outdoor water parks don’t exist out here. Lincoln’s New Salem village isn’t here. There are one or two stores that aren’t out here, and I’ve learned how to do without them.
This is longing for what had become familiar, and isn’t that funny. Illinois was an interstitial place in my life, I hoped. I moved there to do the job-husband-kid thing. With that accomplished, we moved on to greener pastures. And now that I am learning how to drive places here, and when to drive to them, and what to do at them, I sincerely hope we are here for a long, long time.