The Return

We moved, and we are here.  The move itself was long and hard and is blessedly already fading into memory and the edges of it are becoming fuzzy.  We arrived in the city, and stayed about 6 weeks with David's mother, which was also very challenging for everyone.  And then we signed a lease for a very tiny apartment, and we moved here.  Some of our stuff is here.  Much of it is not here and I still feel like we're camping out a bit with mattresses on the floor and such.  It's slow.

I've been at my job for about 2 months now.  It's fine - I don't love it but I don't hate it with a passion or anything.  I do my work, I come home, I get paid.  

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A few years ago I had a bout with agoraphobia.  For a few months it was almost impossible to leave my house, and even within my home I felt unsteady, unsafe and uncertain.  It was a deeply unhappy time for our whole family, and although I got better, it left its mark on me.

I feel that same unsteady, uncertain, unsafe feeling these days as well.  To some extent, this makes sense; after all everything in my life is completely different than it used to be a short time ago, and the pressures on me are fairly intense.  Especially intense for someone who lives with an anxiety disorder.  I have had brief, fleeting moments of wanting to hide, wanting to run away, wanting to curl up and not answer the phone or the door or the emails.  They have passed, but they might return.  I've also been very sad and depressed and overwhelmed these past two months - feelings that have been increasing as time goes on.  Some of this is likely my over-extending myself, some of it is my own perfectionism, some of it is probably forgetting to take medications on time, the extreme heat and humidity that make sleeping almost impossible, the lack of access to my counsellor, my current convenience-food-based diet, and any number of other factors.  

I've lived with my anxiety and depression for decades, and I know my brain and body very well by this point.  I don't **think** I'm heading for another downward spiral, but I know the signs to look for if I am.  Some days I feel like I have some space, some margin still there on the edges, and some days I feel like I'm moving around covered by a wet wool blanket.  It will pass, but it will pass like a glacier, leaving lots of potholes behind it.

What does a Christian do in this sort of situation, you wonder?  It's probably easier to say what a Christian SHOULDN'T do.  Or perhaps what I shouldn't do.  I shouldn't berate myself for a prayer life that has been stripped to the bare bones of "Lord, help, help, help".  I shouldn't refuse the small, insignificant step towards the light because it isn't the big, impressive one.  I shouldn't feel guilty for realizing that in every relationship, even one with the divine, a time comes when one party is completely coasting.  I am coasting.  God knows this, and I know this, and it is okay.  Eat the food, even if the food is a spoonful of cheez whiz.  Drink the liquid, even if the liquid is flat diet coke.  Sleep, even if you sleep in the clothes you wore all day.  Live the next day, the next step, the next breath - and do so, if necessary, cranky, unshowered, ignorant and tearful.  Coast, dear friend - it's okay.

All the same, I'm not quite so mired in shadow at the moment that I can't feel a desire for joy.  I've been trying to grasp tiny slivers of it as I see them.  I've been walking the dog, because exercise and sunshine are good for me, and walking down all the hidden slices of the city.  Today I found a secret garden, and this evening I went to it as well.  I have no idea if it's allowed, but I dug my hands in the dirt and weeded the beds and straightened the vines.  We'll go back tomorrow and do it again, breathing in the dirt smell, until someone tells us not to.  Considering the neglected state the vegetables were in, I think it's more likely they'll return to clear the beds in October and discover with amazement that 'fairies' were there before.  I might even hang up a bird feeder.

And I find joy in writing, so there may very well be more blogging around here for the next little while, as I process all the changes and come to a new equilibrium.  

Even more discussion on moving, plus bonus memories and a horrible trip down memory lane!

Image by Handiwork NYC on Unsplash

Remember how in my last post I talked about how we would be moving by the end of June, but it might be sooner?  Remember that?

Well, it's sooner.  Actually, it's the day after tomorrow.

I have a lot of Leaving Feelings, but I don't want to sift through them right now, surrounded by boxes of all of my things.  Instead, I want to talk about Returning Feelings.

David and I left our hometown approximately 13-14 years ago now.  We moved from there to a bigger city, and then out East to a mid-sized town where we lived first in a terrible apartment, and second in a lovely house.  Then we moved all the way back to our home province, but 10 hours from our hometown, and lived here for almost 8 years.  We've been back a handful of times over the years, but never for more than a week or so, and always very much in the form of a guest, busy seeing everyone who wants to see us before disappearing for another year.

When we left, everything was different.  Public transit, buildings, bus routes, restaurants, parks, rules, everything.  Everything was different.  The city is still familiar to me in its essence, but not in form.  I know where Main Street Mall is, for example, but all the stores inside have changed, the doors open on different streets, the employees are all complete strangers, the merchandise is foreign, and I can't figure out how to drive or take a bus there.  You know, other than that - it's all exactly as I left it!

Despite this, David and I turned to each other today and said 'We're going...HOME!"

The things I've been worried about have not happened...yet.  The children are still excited and not at all worried about moving to a city of over a million from a village of 600 souls.  The cat and dog are not vomiting with stress over their home turning into a maze of crates.  So far, we haven't broken or lost anything desperately important.  Things always look like they aren't going to get done in time, but I think that if I'm being reasonable I could admit that actually we seem to be essentially on schedule.

"That's pessimistic, Amy!" you say.

Ah, friend, I see I haven't explained to you the true horror of my moving history.

Many years ago, David and I lived in a small apartment over a pizza shop.  At some point the smell of smoke, the police knocking on our door, and the huge breakup fights in the bagel shop across the street lost whatever draw they had once had, and we decided to move.  We found an apartment we now remember as The Hottest Apartment In Existence - because there was a south facing WALL of windows that didn't open and made the space equivalent to living on the surface of the sun.  Anyway, it was a big step up in the world, and we packed to move.  Unfortunately, neither of us read our lease very clearly, and I thought we had until midnight on the last day of the month, but it was actually NOON.  We were in a total panic of throwing things in boxes, in fact the new tenants even arrived and we had to yell 'we're sorry!  We're leaving!'  All of our stuff ended up outside as we desperately called everyone we knew and split all of our belongings up into half a dozen houses while we waited 24 hours to access the new place.  My hands were raw and bleeding and so swollen that when we had to attend a wedding (the day we moved.  I know.  No, I do know how insane that sounds) David had to cut my food for me.

Now, unfortunately, that was only the first in a long, long string of terrible moves.  The move to the East coast actually took a total of about a month and involved me, newly pregnant, having to hand over all of our savings to a slum landlord.  That was also the move where we ended up staying in a friend's apartment because the place we had intended to stay, had, in fact, been assured that we could stay in, turned out to not be available more than a night or two.  We ended up putting things in storage and I took an overnight bus to try and interview for a job that I didn't end up getting so we could afford to move and oh my gosh the whole thing was a disaster.

There's the move where we packed our $200+ tv box that had to be returned or we would get charged money we didn't have.  Packed it at the back of the 26' truck.  At the back.  At. the. BACK.  That was the move where we tried to get our dead car onto a tow dolly by rolling it down a hill.  Ah, yes.  I was alone with the two babies at that point, sleeping in a trailer in a friend's driveway.  

Anyway, what I'm getting at here is that this is not a horrible move comparatively!  We have a truck, we have a place to go, we have an income, we have stuff in boxes, we are not having a complete meltdown of epic proportions.  Things are going okay!

I mean, wait and ask me tomorrow.  But right now, it's all alright.

Stages of Packing Books

 

Stage One (The Green Optimist)

Oh I'm going to pack books today!  Wonderful, yes, let's go to the grocery store and get a dozen boxes and I'll finish the livingroom bookcases this afternoon.  I wonder if the children would also like to help?  Well, anyway, even if they don't it's nice to feel productive, ya know?  Gosh I'm such a forward thinker - so organized and planned.  Oooooo!  I wonder if I could do squats while I get the bottom shelves empty!?

Stage Two (The Excellent Preparation)

Well, now I've got 12 boxes and a roll of tape and I'm ready to get started.  Better make some tea, first.  I mean, I'll be much more productive with caffeine.  Okay, no more delaying here, Amy!  Where should I start...mmm...let's just do homeschool fiction first.  No, no, I might want to read some of that and it would suck if it was packed.  Okay, what about...no, no, I have an essay due next week so I'd better not.  Um...well I could...OKAY HERE'S WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.  I'm going to do history, in the livingroom, and if I come across something I think I might need, then I just put it aside.  Wonderful plan.  I'm so smart.

Stage Three (Acknowledging there is a ProBleM)

Crap.  I need all of these books. I didn't even remember I HAD this book.  Am I going to read it in the next two months, though?  I need to start a pile.

Stage Four (Cracks are Showing)

I've used 12 boxes and I'm not done this bookshelf.  Um, okay, um...Okay no panicking!  Amy, you are an organizational maven.  You are lovely and intelligent and if you and your family have a TEENSY TINY problem well, it's fine.  EVERYTHING IS FINE.

Stage Five (Reality Sets In)

"Hello?  David?  Yeah, listen, I know you're driving to the dentist but is there any chance on the way home you could stop and get...yeah.  Yeah I'm out again.  OKAY MOST OF THIS IS YOU, IF WE WANT TO POINT FINGERS, SWEETHEART.  No, no little muffin, Mama is not yelling at Daddy."

Stage Six (The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves)

Alright, kids listen.  I need y'all to stop playing with that tape because Mama is trying very hard to not cry about these books.  Why is this book over here?  This isn't part of that series!  I need to calm down.  NOTHING IS WHERE IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE.  Alright, so do I pack these all just helter skelter and deal with it while I'm unpacking or...STOP. TOUCHING. THE. TAPE.

Stage Seven (Weight Of The World)

Amy.  Amy.  You need to get these books packed.  You aren't giving them away.  You aren't burning them.  They're just in boxes.  That's all.  Calm down.  It doesn't matter at this point if the series are together...

Stage Eight (Distractions)

I have to take 10 minutes and see how many more titles I need to finish the Dear Canada set.  

Stage Nine (Help Is On The Way)

No one will be able to lift anything, none of the boxes fit on the shelves, who knows what's in any of it, I've already needed four things I've packed away.

Stage Ten (The End)

The moving van is here just put stuff in banana boxes and pray.

The harder side

In the midst of all this busying back and forth, I am covering a hole.  I'm hurt.  I'm hurt by the way this ministry is ending, by how relationships are ending, by how so much of this is wrapping up in totally unpleasant and unforseen ways.  I'm hurt by the church.  I'm hurt by people.  I'm hurt by other ministers.  I'm hurt.

Maybe that doesn't shock you, or maybe it does - that someone can love God and not feel happy about all his little children.  Expectations are...a real drag, guys.  They really, truly are.  They make you feel like you're entitled to all sorts of things that you really are not entitled to.  Especially in ministry.  Especially there.  

Here's the thing - LOVE IS TRICKY.  It's hard to love people on your own.  It's HARD to do that.  Sometimes you really UNLOVE those people.  No love, 0%, do NOT recommend!  And that's why the love cannot ultimately come from you; it must come from somewhere else.  If it came from me, there would be about 3cm of love and then you'd hit cement.  I am not a loving individual; my default is "Kids!  Listen, we're crossing the street because there's some Jehovah's Witnesses coming towards us and they're holding pamphlets.  Everyone GO!"  The loving you see in me, that's not me, that's God.  

And I'm holding on to the hope that he can keep loving through me for the next several weeks because I am OUT of those 3cm, folks.  I'm out.  I'm tired of...all of the things.  I want to open my mouth and have God give me words that will encourage and uplift, and instead I'm holding my teeth tightly together so that I don't say what I'm thinking.  I worry the words will start to drip out the edges, start to divert themselves to my eyes, my ears - just run out of my body in fits and starts, dripping on the carpet as I walk.  That would not be good.  That would not be a nice ending.  The words are not nice words.

God is the well of stillness, the lack of chaos.  If I am to make it through this move, it will be by His strength alone.

April 8 - Moving Update

 We're up to...hold on, let me count again just to make sure...

44 packed boxes!  

So the packing thing is always okay for me, honestly.  I mean, you gets the boxes, you puts the things in the boxes.  It's not difficult.  We're doing fairly well on that front.

The decluttering is a bit less comfortable, but I'm trying.  I've found a home for a few things - it's just a question of actually having the things OUT of the house, because people say they want stuff, but do they really??  This is a returning issue for me.  Also I have no memory left so no, I'm probably actually NOT going to remember to bring it to you.  Sigh.  Prolly not.

I've been calling various health providers today.  Make sure everyone has a dental checkup before we move and our insurance kicks off.  Found out that we can't have eye exams until July, and we move in June, so that's dumb but okay, our eyes were fine whenever we last had them checked so I assume they'll be fine until we can get a new optometrist.  Have scheduled a time to go in and get the last pair of insurance-covered frames for my glasses that have been glued back together one too many times.  

Also called the junk removal guy who brings things to the dump for a fee.  Because do I ever have things to bring to the dump, friends.  Oh, do I ever.  Someone would like my raised garden beds AND the dirt in them, which...fantastic.  Come and get those suckers.  Called the vet to make sure animals will have rabies shots and such before we go.  Northern and Southern Ontario have different animal health concerns, apparently - protection against ticks and heartworm, specificially.

This week is all about finishing school for the grown ups.  I'm on the home stretch of this trade publishing in Canada course, and as soon as I'm done I'm taking a break until September, so we can get settled.  David has a final volunteering session at the food bank, and then a final reflection paper to write, and then all of his requirements for this degree on his end have been fulfilled.

The children's schooling is not really critical to finish at any particular time, but I am trying to wrap up all the odds and ends of books that we've started, just so we can finish our series and pack them away.  

We'd hoped to do a run down to Ottawa with a few dozen boxes in the van, but then the provincial lock down happened, so now we're not going anywhere for four weeks.  This means we've got boxes slowly engulfing our house and no where to put them, which is...fun. 

And there we go, plodding ever onward.

All places are the same

I've lived in four different towns or cities in the past eight years.  Some of them were a few hundred souls, some a few thousand and some a few million.  Tiny places, big places.  I've lived in a place with one, small grocery store with expensive food to shop at and I've lived somewhere where the food of the world was at your fingertips.  I've lived in a one bedroom apartment, a two story house, a bungalow.  And I was thinking about the future yesterday - where we might live in the future - would we ever live in a big city again?  I grew up in a city, would my children have that kind of childhood?  Or maybe we'd live on a farm, plants gardens, raise sheep (I like sheep, I'd be up for raising sheep...maybe not forever, but at least for a season of life) and be pastoral and quiet.  Will we have the opportunity to downsize all of our possessions and move into an apartment without a garden again, a high rise, like friends of mine are doing right now with their four children?

It's all just wondering of course - we have a ministry here, and a home (a nice home, one of the nicer we've had) and it's normal for people to wonder about the future.  But what really struck me wasn't the wondering, which is just for fun, what struck me was that all of these places have become the same.

When you live in one place for a long time, or in your childhood home or city, you feel as though it is the entire world.  And when you move from there then the next place you live, it seems like a foreign country.  Where is the grocery store, you wonder?  What, I have to pay to do laundry?  And everything, from the most mundane to the exotic, is exotic.  It's the first time you really come face to face with the daily lives of other people and try to live like them.  But as you continue to move around the fear leaves and the moves take on a different feeling.  There's a sense of confidence in your ability to navigate the world.  When you absorb the information that you'll be moving again, be it a few hours or a few days drive away, you calmly pull out the mental information What To Do When You Move, and you're off.

I can pack our house with my eyes closed.  I know which packing containers work best, what to write on a box label so you aren't crying in the new kitchen that first morning and sending your husband out to find 'any caffeine at all'.  I am confident in my ability to make a meal for five people that doesn't use a fridge or a stove or almost any kitchen tools.  I know who to ask if there is anything for the children to do in town, I have 'rules for choosing a restaurant', in short, I'm a good mover at this stage.

And the places we move don't scare me anymore.  There's still a rush of adrenaline when you walk out of the bedroom looking for the bathroom and it all comes back to you, don't get me wrong, but it passes quickly now.  I don't really concern myself much with 'fitting in', because I know it will happen.  I enjoy that first walk in the new neighbourhood - looking around, seeing what there is to see.  Oh look, there's the grocery store!  Let's take a peek inside to see what we've got to work with.

The places we have lived aren't actually all the same, of course.  There's a lot of local flavour and plenty of differences.  And I have preferences, obviously, because everyone does.  I don't like taking my laundry to the laundromat for example, and I would rather have an outdoor space, but I'm flexible and I can make anywhere a home.  What makes me happy at this season of life is that I can adapt, that the adventure of moving is an adventure and not a burden.  Going to a new place is something to look forward to and enjoy.

Gourds

I live in the country, as I'm sure I've mentioned before.  In the middle of nowhere.  And when you move to a place such as the one where I live you sort of show up, look around, and then a part of your brain says "Is that it?"

I have learned through doing this for years now, moving and strange new places, that it is never it.

If you ask people, they will never tell you all the weird, hidden, fantastic places you can go and the incredibly interesting people you will meet and the fairs no one has heard of and such - and I'm assuming this is because to them these things are not cool, they are just the same old things that have always existed and the same old people who have always been there.  There's nothing interesting in them.

And because of this I've learned that you need to have patience when you arrive.  People are going to tell you about the touristy stuff first.  After a while though you're going to start to hear about the interesting things - and that's how I heard about the gourds.  The librarian mentioned them in an offhand way, just off to pick up some gourds.  Oh, where do you get gourds?  I wanted to know.  And she told me about a place down one back road where a farmer grew all sorts of amazing gourds and left them for people to take for a donation.  She came back with all sorts of gourds, all different kinds.

Now, what an interesting thing, eh?  And who would have known that that existed - it's not the sort of thing anyone would tell you when you arrived in a new place.  They don't tell you that there is a wonderful spot to get crabapples or a place you can watch them shear sheep or a lovely beach no one goes to.  I've learned to love moving to a new place because of this; I'm never bored and I always know that when I arrive there will be exciting things.

Monday!

Monday, you've never been so hated and so looked forward to at the same time.

The moving truck arrives tomorrow, along with our friend Rob, who will be driving it.  Sadly the two don't arrive TOGETHER necessarily, and so there's a lot of finagling going on with that.  But you can hear about it all tomorrow.  Tomorrow.  Not today.  Because today has been specially set aside for impossible tasks.

ONE!

I'm getting rid of our food.today, not that there's a lot left of it.  We have enough flour left for one more meal of pancakes, and the pound of bacon in the fridge along with whatever is left on the ham bone constitutes all of our meat.  The children are snacking on nothing but dried figs and saltines from here on out and a solitary carton of vegetable soup along with the contents of my crisper drawers will be a soup for supper tonight.  The condiments are gone, the pantry is gone...

David stopped me on the stairs and said "Um...are we not going to need this stuff for meals for the next few days?"  What meals?  What next few days?  It's Monday, I have pancakes and bacon for one meal, soup for another, and then it's Tuesday.  The children will eat applesauce and grapes and whatever I can scrounge up for breakfast, and then lunch will be providentially provided by our friend Anna, and supper is chicken sandwiches at Burger King.  And then it's Wednesday and the truck leaves and feeding two grown men isn't my problem anymore.  And none of these meals will require apple cider vinegar or cheesecake mixes or any of the other foods I'm getting rid of right now.

This is all we're taking with us food wise.

TWO!

I'm spray painting two of our dining room chairs.  They're a temporary solution to our chair problem, which is that we don't have any!  A table, yes, and two lovely chairs...and four people.  So these wooden folding ones will have to do for the foreseeable future.  Usually when I say something like that we end up using the item for years because we can't afford to replace it, but I truly hope that isn't the case this time.

THREE!

Thank heavens for friends!

Some of the best things I've seen/read on the Intergoogleweb and in print this week.

** Your minister isn't a machine.  This article that should be required reading for all pastors...and their congregations.

** Anne Kennedy's blog about being a conservative Anglican priest and homeschooling her six children is a breathe of fresh air.

** The Japanese Giant Salamander in this picture is both incredibly strange and really, really fascinating.  And here's a BBC article that is worth reading.

** How to spray paint a vinyl chair in bold and fantastic stripes!

** I really want to know if this portable outlet that you stick to your window to utilize solar power would be worth getting everyone on my list for Christmas.

What I Wore Sunday - The Last Day At Church

Today was our very last Sunday at our church here in small town New Brunswick.  It's been our spiritual home, off and on, for four years, and we'll miss it, especially since what they offer us - a great Sunday School program for Samuel that he adores attending, a safe nursery staffed with loving workers who dote on Clara, and uplifting music, fulfilling sermons, interesting small groups and tonnes of activities, a chance for David and I to sit alone in a pew and be together for an hour - isn't going to be present for a long time in our new church.

In case you're just tuning in, this week we're moving to a very tiny town in Northern Ontario for David to pastor a church.  It's exciting, and it's what we want, but the challenges are very real.  And one of those is going to simply be that we will never again be a family in the pews.

Anyway - here's what I wore, yet another fall transition outfit.

I bought this belted satin shirt second hand, and I was really nervous about wearing it because of how bright and 'look at meeeeee!' it seemed.  I also discovered that satin attracts water marks like a big fat rock gathers big fat moss.  But I gave it a shot this Sunday and I think I'm happy I did.

Check out the FLAP link up for more outfit inspiration.

I'm hoping (trying not to add another stress on myself, but hoping) to blog something every day this week.  With pictures.  Seeing as that's practically impossible for me on a normal week, let alone one where we're packing a truck with all of our belongings including the computer and moving over 2000 km away and where I'll be living in someone else's house for three days, I'm going to take it easy on myself if I don't make it.

My Empty Fridge

 The freezer is empty, the cupboards are almost bare, and this was the fridge a few days ago - it's even emptier now.  We are the proud owners of a limited assortment of condiments, really.  And some eggs.

Tonight I'm cooking that big cabbagey looking creature in the bottom there with some bacon I picked up at the butcher's.  And I have 1 solitary onion in the drawer, which I will sauté with the eggplant and some oil and the last of the Greek seasoning in the cupboard.  And we're going to buy a big roast of pork which will hopefully last us a few days before we're reduced to nothing but take-out pizza.

Anxiety To The Tune Of Happy Squealing Children

Sitting in the destroyed dining room (why do children need to wear so very MUCH of their suppers?) contemplating the equally topsy turvy kitchen, the partially cleaned bathroom, and the two page long list of things to get done.  Trying not the panic.  Not succeeding.

I can hear optimistic sounds from my husband upstairs attempting to book the final airline ticket.  This is so encouraging since the last few times he's been on the phone with them there has been a lot of glaring and much casual frustration and storming about.  He's had a rough day, poor guy.

Just went upstairs and David is still on the phone.  Uggghhhhaaaaaahhhhhh...this is the last big thing we have to do today!  Not that we had the amazing list crossing off morning I had hoped for.  We made it to David's appointment and to mine, but then missed another one.  We bought food for tonight but not food as in 'groceries'.  We didn't Go Grocery Shopping.  We did make it to the bank, but we didn't get a chance to pick up the new cat carrier.  It's all been so touch and go.

And now I have a list a mile long for tomorrow.  It's not as long as it was the first time I wrote it out, and then got canola oil all over it so I couldn't cross anything off, but it's still pretty long.  There are 33 items on it; 15 of those alone are people I have to somehow get in touch with some one reason or another...can you watch my child/help me pack a truck/tell me where I can sign up for a family doctor/tell me if you want my table?

Well, Apparently All Is Well on the booking of tickets front.  David has claimed victory and has gone off to fall asleep in the bathtub listening to sermons.  I feel palpable relief.

The Anniversary Gift

So here we are, the last Big Day of work this week.  I mean, don't get me wrong, Friday and Saturday will have their fair share of packing and general crazy, but today is the day filled with everything under the sun that seems to need immediate attention.  To combat this, here's a little bit of beautiful in the midst of it all. This is the tea set that David bought me for our anniversary this year.

It was the colours that drew me to it, and the simplicity of the design.  And when I was surprised with it I started to think about whether I'd be able to add to it over the years, and quickly discovered how expensive that would be.  But I'm thrilled that I have a two-person set right now.

Everything Piled On Thursday...Poor Old Thursday

I thought we'd be able to spread out the week a bit more, but it's looking more and more as though Thursday is going to be the next Big Day Of All The Things.

David's appointment

My doctor's appointment, inconveniently moved up a day

The insurance appointment, inconveniently moved up a day

Grocery shopping

Picking up the cat carrier

While we're at that end of town, Another Errand

Buying R's plane ticket and sending it to him 

There cannot be another thing in there, please Lord.

David is currently out with both children completing his To Do list.  Lucky man, he gets to then go to the library all by his onesome and write essays while I get to convince said children that they really want to eat things that come out of cans for lunch, specifically beans and peas, both of which are disgusting and surely a sign of the apocalypse.

It's Insane That We've Gotten This Far

Only two days into The Week Before We Move and heaven help us all but we're in Full On Moving over here.  It's exhausting being emotionally 'on' all of the time for an introvert like me.  Yesterday I discovered that I had spent almost seven hours tending a bonfire in the backyard simply as a Way To Get Away From My Family.

I'm going to sit here, at an ungodly hour of pre-dawn, having freshly consumed two leftover pancakes and a tepid cup of tea, because I was woken up an hour ago by a small child who had wet the bed.  He is happily dry and asleep on clean sheets while his mother is decidedly NOT.  And I'm going to cultivate a glow of productivity and write out what we have we accomplished so far (only through the grace of God by this point).

Happily, we have been the recipients of that most wonderful event - Obviously Answered Prayer.  When determining how much our plane tickets were going to cost we mistakenly assumed that entering the number of travelers would result in an estimate that included all of us.  This was not the case, apparently.  And so we ended up with an actual price that was double what we had previously counted on.  There was, I'm not going to lie, a moment of chaos.  And then David and I prayed that God would be Very Obvious and Quite Clear and Really Show Us What He Wanted.  And lo and behold, he did.  Our truck rental company, it seems, would give us money off the rental if we agreed to drop off the vehicle in a larger city that was only slightly out of our way.

That amount came to $390.  The flight bookings agent calculated that if we were willing to push back the flight time until Saturday, the price would only be $389.99.  It was wonderful.  David spent part of the day in the city paying for the truck, finishing bookings and what have you.  Apparently they need to bring in the trailer we need from wherever it is that they have these things.  And then the rest of the day was spent purchasing airline tickets and paying for them and the printing off of the tickets.  Those two large tasks done, we moved on to burning off old stuff in the fire pit, as I mentioned, and eating supper, which was a very odd concoction consisting of onions, mushrooms, garlic, apple sausage, kale, two kinds of lentils, wild rice and broth with sour cream stirred in at the end.

Today is going to consist on my side entirely, I think, of packing.  My intention is to continue with the closets and dressers, and to bag up the clothes being donated and then to begin on the toys.  David will be running errands and making phone calls.  We need to set up an account with the new vet, see about the local public health office to arrange Clara's innoculations, attempt to register with a new family doctor, figure out if we need a transit permit for towing the car, print off a form, return embroidery floss to a neighbour, donate several large bags of books to the library, return a paper shredder, transfer David's ministry license and make an appt. to patch the left front tire.  Those will be his tasks, followed likely by a long trip to the library to work on his schoolwork.  Supper is something to do with three very small steaks in the fridge, probably with beets, and hopefully including pasta if we have any left.  The cupboards might as well belong to Mrs. Hubbard.

Tomorrow is Thursday and we'll be buying the plane ticket for our friend R. to come out and drive the truck, picking up a second cat carrier, arranging with the post office to forward our mail and David has an appointment.  We'll also need to get together our team of helpers to pack the truck on this end and unload it at the parsonage, buy cat litter, children's gravol for the trip and no doubt more groceries, and I have two phone calls that must be made.

Friday all we have so far is a final doctor's appointment for me, a trip to the insurance agency, another to the bank, packing packing packing...

I have no sweet clue what will be left to do on Saturday.  Likely clean like a fiend.  And then Saturday night some friends are bidding me goodbye and I get to escape the craziness.

And then Sunday we rest.

A Timely Quote

Anne Kennedy, talking about cleaning out her basement...

"I imagine this is like heaven. As we come into the presence of the Almighty we find we are Finally Rid of that nagging desire to gossip, that nasty feeling we've lugged around toward so and so who never understood who we really were anyway, the immense frustrating pile of imperfection and ingratitude and other junk that we knew we wanted to get rid of but never got to it because there was never any deadline. Well, my deadline is Saturday, and if Jesus comes back that day, I'll only have to leave behind a quarter of the stuff I currently posses. So, come Lord Jesus, or, if you'd like to wait a little longer, that will probably be ok too." - An Undercurrent Of Hostility

Exactly.  Because I am a fallible human being, so far from perfection, and although we can all hope Jesus is working on me (in fact, we can trust in it) there's a heck of a way to go.  He's infinitely patient, though.  And now to go dismantle my dining room table.

Moving Makes Me Sound Very Dull

I'm not naturally a non-planner, a happy go lucky will o' the wisp fly by night gal.  I'm not.  And it has taken me thirty mumble mumble years to come to grips with this.  When you're really uptight and you need someone to talk you down off the ledge?  That person is me.  When you are overwhelmed completely and totally by everything always?  I can help you with that.  But if you need someone to throw cares in the air and run away to Paris for the weekend, or, more likely in my sphere of friends, loosen your death grip on planning and go to the park for an hour...I might not be the one to call.

However, I did try to unwind the other day by tubing down the river with some girlfriends, and then today, in the midst of a bout of mustpackeverythingitis I did buy fruit at the store, and then later took the children to see some friends and play on the swings for a little while.

Yesterday I packed the children's rooms, and you can see pictures if you're friends with me on fb.  And if you aren't, well, I'm sure I'll post them all at some point.  And today's big plan is to get all of the clothing/laundry/linens 'dealt with' in some way.  Washed, dried and packed or kept out.  The bedding is being stored in black garbage bags in the unplugged (and cleaned) chest freezer.  David and I have each gone through our own closets twice now to purge clothes.

*David's final shift at work is today.  "There's no going back" we said to each other on the way to the grocery store.  Somewhat overwhelmed.

*Samuel and I were playing Go Fish today and he is finally beginning to grasp the concept of 'same'.  This is exciting.

A beautiful flowery plant in the backyard.

*While at the store we also picked up all the usual valuables on the toddler black market:  grapes, marble cheese, chicken fingers...our goal in the next week is more 'peace and quiet' and less 'well balanced diet'.

And now, over the deafening noise of the crickets, I'm going to make a cup of tea and start cleaning the carpets.

In Which I Am A Martyr

This morning David needed some Time Alone.  Because we are all Very Stressed.  And so I took the two children and went to drop off the recycling at the depot several blocks away.  This is more of an undertaking than one might imagine, since C has recently acquired a certain grating quality to her usual whining and moaning, and S is going through a phase I am going to refer to as "Explaining Everything Always".  This made our outing sound something like this:

C:  Moooooaaaaannn moanmoanmoan whiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeee.
S:  And the grass is on the ground because it is because it is grass because it is on the ground because it is grass.
C:   Eeeeeeeeeeee......aaaaaaaaaa.....whine.

I therefore felt very good about my mothering qualities when I gathered the whole $1.70 from the nice man at the depot booth and dragged my unwilling brood home.  We had a bunch of other errands to run today on top of that, and those ones David came along for.  Although, several things we had hoped to accomplish were not done, and that made me feel a bit antsy because it's the 14th of the month and I really feel as though All Things Need To Be Done Now.

To combat this feeling my friend Caitlin suggested that I write a list.  I told her if I did write a list, it would be very long.  She made disbelieving noises at this statement, so I wrote a list.  It took a long time and was two pages long...and it included very vague statements such as 'clean all the house'.

Still, I did get some packing done today.  Clara's room, mostly, is done.  And Samuel's room is significantly started.  Tomorrow David needs to go to the library to work on coursework for the morning and I will stay home and pack, but then in the afternoon I have every intention of going tubing down the river with some dear friends and casting my cares aside until I come home.

Tuesday

We have a cat carrier!  We need two, but since two brand new ones will cost us over $60 we've been a little wary of dropping down the cash.  Plus the frugal Scottish woman in me thinks 'Dang - it's a plastic box.'.
But then we found a used one for only $15 and bought it on the spot. One down, one to go.  Be still my cheap cheap cheap really responsible lil' heart.

After an entire morning (I wish I was exaggerating here) of figuring out moving details, some things are finally finally coming together.  I'm just really sitting here and waiting on God.  Because I am incapable of managing much else this afternoon.  I'm telling myself that tomorrow is David's day off, and so clearly tomorrow will be the day we get more stuff done.  Today is for being upset that the children are not sleeping, having a toothache and Reading All The Blogs.

Can we all just hush up a moment and look at my backyard?

Thank you, God.

Things I've Found Out About Our New Area

So, guess what!?  There are Old Order Mennonites living quite close to us, and that means a farmer's market!  I am beyond excited about this.  Desbarats isn't our 'home town', but it's completely manageable in terms of travelling, and it seems as though the market is open into October, which is great news for us.  Also, I've discovered there's a local meat shop, and a honey farm, and even a few alpaca dealers - so my knitting won't be in acrylics only.  Hurrah!

And also, there's a train!  I had scanned maps before, and one of the things I was looking for was a train, since Samuel loves the one that goes through our town so much, but I couldn't see one.  Well, after a closer inspection I found that there are tracks outside of town, and what's more there is a 4-season road that leads to them AND it's only 3.5km from our house, which is totally walkable for the children and me - we regularly do 5km walks together, sometimes more.  I think I'll email VIA Rail and see if I can get the pass-through schedule.

The church sent me some pictures...

Not clear at all, really, but this is the kitchen window.  Have you ever seen such an odd design?  It has a little doorknob to open it, and then it unfolds accordion style.

They're repainting the parsonage for us, white, at my request.  Crisp!  Clean!  Also...combating this little problem:

Tiny, dark, North facing rooms that look out onto pine trees and lilac bush forests.  I think white rooms are our only real option under these circumstances.  The bedroom that will be Clara's is 7'9" by 11'.  Samuel's is 8'6" by 9'.  Tiny little rooms.  We're getting rid of the double bed that Samuel sleeps in right now and putting him back in his toddler bed for the time being.

I have a friend coming by today to visit, and although she doesn't realize it, she's also getting hog tied into child wrangling while I figure out how to take about bookshelves.  Adios.

How I'm Feeling About The 'Big Move'

It's funny, really, how my emotions are all over the place with this upcoming move.

On the one hand...I'm leaving this:

Hills, snow, leaves, beauty.

But I'm going to a place that looks like here
and here

So it's hard to be disappointed or upset about the move, exactly.  Our new home will be a lot more rugged, less agricultural.  More remote, a smaller town (less than 1/4 the size of our current town), and there will be fewer options in many areas of life.  There's one grocery store.  One.  I scroll through the Go.ogle maps of the area and scan for stuff to do...and when I find something I hoard it to myself.  There's a playgroup.  Only one, but it's something.  There's a library.  It has a children's storytime.  I treasure these things - they mean a lack of complete isolation.  Especially in the winter.  It might be impossible to get to the city or even another town in the area once winter really hits for a week or more at a time.  When the hydro goes down, I have no idea how long it will take to get hooked up again.  I really know almost nothing about the area - but I remind myself that I knew nothing at all about rural New Brunswick before I moved here.  I'll learn.

The church is preparing for us to be in the pulpit on the 1st of September - which means that there are only 35 more days until I'm home in the evening, having sat through that first service, probably putting the children to bed right about now, looking forward, no doubt, to an evening full of packing.

Perhaps this sounds ungrateful, but I know myself, and I know that I'll be terribly homesick right then.  Right Now Amy knows 35 Days In The Future Amy so very well, you see.  And so I've already started planning things for those first few difficult weeks.  A few small trips, just the children and me, and some interesting stuff to look forward to.  A trip to Toronto in November, with any luck.  Visitors in December, because we won't be able to travel over Christmas again as long as David is in ministry.  I'm prioritizing the internet - along with hooking up the phone it's the very first thing I'll be doing.

But in the meantime, I'm here.  This is the time when it's almost impossible for me to Be Here.  Be Present.  Be Right Now.  I strain forward and hold on to the past with a death grip.  Neither is healthy.  So if you're looking for me, I'll be in the basement, packing, and simultaneously really happy and terribly sad.