Onward

Five months after making the decision to move, the moment I had been dreading finally arrived when the movers showed up last weekend.


The big tractor trailer pulled up Friday morning and I have to admit I had to get my Big Girl Panties on about what was coming. We've been through this before with professional movers, so I knew what to expect. But this move is just so....well.....difficult...that when I saw that great big truck I had to go find something to do in the basement for a few minutes to save myself from an embarrassing display of emotion.

The movers were very professional and very careful but they are there to do a job, after all, which is to pack up everything we own and haul it away. It's just so, I don't know, intrusive that there's really no way to get through it except to just do it.

Hating it doesn't change it.

Of course, (because Murphy loves me so his law reigns supreme in my life most of the time) a realtor wanted to show the house in the middle of all this chaos. So, between three strangers tromping through my house putting everything in boxes and three more strangers tromping through my house to see if they wanted to buy it, I realized that I had had enough of all these people invading my privacy and disturbing my home.And they were getting everything so dirty.

So I left for a little while.

When I came back, the realtor was gone and I felt a little better. Sometimes one just needs a little space and then coping can continue.

After the chaos was over and the movers were gone, of course I had to do some cleaning. It was so empty and quiet. Very weird. With all the comings and goings of our family members and friends over the years that house has never been quiet. Until now. I had the same feelings I had when we cleaned out my grandmother's house after she passed away. It was such a difficult thing to do that I just wanted to get out of there, and yet, I never wanted it to end because I knew that once it ended I would never be back again.

However, it's behind me now and we are one big step closer to being re-settled. How I would have loved to have stayed in that beautiful home. When we moved in, Joshua was only 10 years old. Sariah went on her first prom while we lived there. Katie left on her mission from that home. Sariah and Jarom made their first steps into independence out the front door that made rainbows everywhere when the sun shone through it.  Katie and Matt started their married life there then brought little Caleb home from the hospital for a few days until Katie could climb the stairs to their apartment. Joshua's friends kept an extra toothbrush there because they practically lived with us on the weekends. We celebrated 6 Christmases there, 7 Independence Days, 42 birthdays, held one great big Later Family Reunion, and said goodbye to our sweet little Shirley kitty who had been with us for almost the whole time we have been a family.

No wonder I'm having a hard time.

Black Cloud

So, when I was a little girl I had this curious habit of being fine one moment and distressed for no seemingly good reason the next. I remember the feeling. Sometimes I would just be briefly sad and teary with no provocation or warning. My mother described it as watching a little black cloud come over my head which would rain for a moment, then pass on. It wouldn't last long - just a few tears then I was done.

Funny....sometimes it still happens.

So, when I found this sweet little picture at Munieca Arts and Paper Crafts I was smitten. If only she had strawberry blonde, curly hair I would buy it, frame it, and name it me.

Thinking on Willy and his Kin

When my son, Jarom, was 7 years old, we went to see the movie "Free Willy". He loved it so much that we bought the movie. We bought shirts with Orca whales on them. He had Orca whale curtains in his bedroom. He ate, slept, breathed, and dreamed Orca whales.



My how time flies.

At any rate, at the end of the movie there was a short documentary on Orca whales with information about adopting a whale. My little son thought he would really like to adopt a whale, so we mailed off $35.00 then checked the mail every day.

Finally, it came. A huge packet arrived with information about "his" whale, including a picture of her and the exciting news that she was a new mommy whale. Her name was "Princess". She was beautiful.They were holding a contest to name her baby. Jarom named him "Cody".

...we had a small problem over a big whale...

But, in spite of all the excitement, Jarom was a little emotional over the whole thing. In fact, he was downright hysterical.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Don't you like your whale?"

"I didn't get a whale", he said. "You told me I'd get a whale and all I got was a picture."

There are moments when you realize that there's been a misunderstanding. There are other moments when you realize there's been a BIG misunderstanding.

This was one of those times. My sweet little seven year old son thought that he was getting a whale. A REAL whale. And he was having nothing to do with any explanations about the realities of where we would keep such a thing, much less what we would feed it. I appealed to his compassionate side. A whale wouldn't be happy in Idaho. No, even a swimming pool in the back yard wouldn't be big enough.

Honestly, to this day, I think he's still upset that he didn't get a real whale.

So, all this news about Tillicum, the whale that killed his trainer this week, has made me think about how much my son loved (loves?) Orca whales. He loved everything about them. He wanted to swim with them. He wanted to go see Shamu. He wanted one to have and to hold from this day forward.

Now, we all know that the whole reason Sea World keeps whales in swimming pools in the back yard is for the money. And, we faithfully shell out the money to see a magnificent creature that, if not captive, would probably never be seen by most of us. And I can't help but think that those trainers that work with them are very much like my son. Enthralled. Mesmerized. Giddy at the thought of it all.

But, with all that said, I'm re- hearing again in my mind the conversation my son and I had years ago. I know you love Orca whales. I know you want one. It would make you happy.

But the whale wouldn't be happy.

And isn't that something to consider?

This One's for the Girls

 

We ditched the boys this weekend and spent the weekend together in Boise - shopping, laughing, shopping, playing, shopping, eating......well, you get it.

...no sissy Lifetime movies for this crowd...

We started this shop-fest on Friday afternoon, which found us at the Cheesecake Factory. We should have started with dessert, because by the time we ate, of course we couldn't eat any cheesecake. Really, what's the point of eating at the Cheesecake Factory if you don't get any cheesecake? But, there it is. We hit the mall (clothes and accessories), Pier 1 Imports (a lovely shabby chic picture frame for me), and then.....where's that cheesecake when you want it?......we were ready for dessert so we went to Cold Stone.

At Cold Stone, I was less interested in the ice cream than I was in the family that came in after us. Mom, Dad, a 2 year old, and a little (read newborn) baby in a carrier. Dad (big guy with a Boise State Broncos hat on backwards) saw someone he knew (who just happened to be a really cute young woman with her school-age daughters), so he peeled off from the group and got engaged in what must have been the most INTRIGUING conversation since he was totally oblivious to the fact that his wife was standing in line, holding the baby in his/her carrier, fussing at the 2 year old, and ordering, paying, and delivering ice cream to the table where he sat. Like a king. Who needed his head pinched off. By me. Or, preferably, by HER.

At any rate, after ice cream it was Ross and Marshall's, then the pregnant lady ran out of gas and we went back to the hotel for our comfy PJ's and back-to-back episodes of "Lockup".  (No sissy Lifetime movies for this crowd.)

Saturday we started at the Antique Mall where I told my cohorts in shopping crime to leave me and come back in a week, but they performed an intervention and got me out in less than an hour. We checked out the Factory Outlet stores (nothing much there), Chili's for lunch, then TJ Maxx, and back to Burlington Coat Factory to get the stroller we saw earlier. 

At Burlington, I truly wish I had been in possession of a video camera. The stroller and baby carrier came in a ginormous, oversized, "let's kill all the trees in the forest" box that, of course, could not be squeezed, levered, or shoved into the back seat or the trunk. There we were, three girls in the parking lot, with a huge box and nowhere to put it.

Never fear.

We unpacked the whole thing in the middle of the parking lot, stored the purchase in the trunk, and left Burlington with the task of recycling the box.

Problem solved.

Unfortunately, the greatest picture passed me by as we zoomed toward our next shopping destination....a seedy establishment on the street corner that advertised "Guns, Ammunition, and Divorce Toolkits". I never have my camera out when I need it. 

The boys fared pretty well on frozen lasagna and Mongolian Grill. The house was standing when we returned, the dishes were (miraculously) clean, and all was well. 

Hmmmm.....looks like they CAN live without us. I've heard Salt Lake has some sales going on......and Kohl's just increased my credit limit. 

Shoes. I love shoes.

And I think one of the reasons I love shoes is because these lovely people introduced me to my first shoes:



This is Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Lipsitz and they've run Lipsitz Department Store in my hometown of Beaufort, South Carolina for....well....a really, really long time. I found out yesterday that Lipsitz Department Store is finally closing after all these years and I am, quite honestly, a little sad and nostalgic over it.

I can remember being a very, very small child and going into this very, very old building on Bay Street. There were two places to buy shoes when I was a little girl - Lipsitz and Schein's next door. For some reason, Lipsitz was our shoe store. We knew them. And they knew us.



No backroom for this store. All the shoe boxes were stacked on shelves, under chairs, in corners. They were everywhere. There was this funny minah bird in a cage right in the middle of the store and we loved to hear him talk.

I would climb up on the raised red vinyl chair and have my foot measured - by a real person who did nothing all day but sell shoes. That was exciting. Who knew how much bigger my foot would be than last time? Off with the old shoe and into the metal sliding foot-measurer with my sock foot.

In those days we bought three kinds of shoes: church shoes, school shoes, and play shoes. One pair each. In the 1960's in our little hometown there weren't a lot of choices, but we didn't know what we were missing so we were quite happy with what we got. A pair of shoes would come back in the right size and a great deal of checking for fit would happen. They would squeeze my foot, use a thumb to feel for my big toe ("wiggle your toe" they'd say) and watch carefully as I walked away and back again. Then the same process would happen all over again with the other shoe. They would never in their lives let a child get out the door unless both shoes had been tried on and fitted.

And, what little girl in the 1960's wouldn't be delighted over these?

The store had the big Red Goose on the counter - symbol of Red Goose Shoes which everyone wore, unless they were wearing Keds or Buster Browns. Once the shoes were chosen and paid for, Mr. or Mrs. Lipsitz would let me pull the big Red Goose's neck and out would pop a golden plastic egg with a prize inside and a slit on the top so the egg could serve as a bank. I'm sure they were only supposed to let me do it if we actually bought a pair of Red Goose Shoes, but I don't ever remember a trip where I didn't get to pull the goose's neck.

I visited with them the last time I was home and they were as fun and smiley as ever. Nothing had changed. The shoe boxes were still everywhere and the red goose, though retired to a top shelf, was still alive and well. The minah bird seemed to be the only thing missing.

So, Mr. and Mrs. Lipsitz are calling it quits. They were old when I was little so they're really old now and I can't blame them for finally taking a break. I don't think they've sold a lot of children's shoes lately. Wal-Mart has taken over that business and what a shame for all the children who will never know the excitement of that red vinyl chair or the thrill of pulling the goose's neck.

So, to Mr. and Mrs. Lipsitz I say thank you.

Thank you for caring that my growing feet had shoes that fit right.

Thank you for giving me sweet memories of something as simple as buying a pair of shoes.

And, thank you for being such a lovely, unforgettable part of my childhood.

God bless.