When someone asks me where home is, referring to where I grew up, I often joke that I'm homeless, having been an Army brat with frequent moves throughout my childhood. But as I write tonight, I may be closer to not having a home than ever before (my mortgage holder would vehemently disagree with this, as it is firmly expecting to be paid on the first of the month). Before I go on to explain this, I want to take a moment to clarify that I'm totally speaking with tongue in cheek here, and my clever introduction should not in any way be taken to diminish the difficult plight of those who truly are homeless.
Today I drove away from the home I bought almost thirteen years ago (again, my mortgage holder should not panic; the check is in the mail, and someone else is moving in right behind me). I love that house. Oh, there are times when I hated being a homeowner, but overall, I love that house. Maybe it has something to do with the memories that are now associated with it. It was my first house, a huge turning point in my life. All five of the cats who have owned me have lived there, and I'll never forget the first night they came into their new home and began to explore. It's the house in which I stayed up all night waiting to see if I'd gotten a job as collection development librarian, work to which I've become incredibly attached. This is where all kinds of conversations with special friends have happened. I've never been known as an outdoor person, but this is the yard in which my mom taught me how to take care of some basic plants and learn a little something about landscaping (some of it actually took). My dad taught me the wonders a garage has to offer when, after living in my house for 6 or 7 years, he arranged for me to get a garage door opener that really worked, allowing me to park in the garage and stop scraping my windows for the first time in, well, ever. This is the house in which I hosted several borders who have become wonderful friends. Where my mom and I returned after an amazing trip to Iceland. Where I baked my first loaves of bread. Where I went to at the end of the day to recharge. Aren't these the things that make a home?
But tonight, most of my possessions are on a truck, someone else is moving into my house, and I'm on the road as I make my way to my new apartment in Gainesville, Florida. My lease does not start until tomorrow. Does that make me homeless? Sasha's with me, so if she's part of what makes a home, maybe home is portable. When I move into my new apartment tomorrow, will it automatically become home? My parents will be there to help me settle. It will soon contain my possessions, my cat, and my return address. And a really awesome screened in porch. It will be the place to which I will return each evening. Surely those are the things that makes it home. Or does it? It won't contain any memories for me, good or bad. Yet. But it IS the place where the start of a new job and new goals will begin. Does that make it home?
It occurs to me that one of the biggest changes happening has to do not with the actual building in which I'm living but the location of that building. The Raleigh area is a great place to live, and I've thoroughly enjoyed my time there. So much so that I feel like an NC native, even if only by adoption. Not only do I have favorite restaurants and stores, but I have long time service professionals in my dentist, veterinarian, hairdresser, and doctor. Plus they know me and my favorite sandwich at Quiznos. Does having a history in a certain vicinity make it home? Maybe the Cheers folks had it right. We all want to be somewhere where everybody knows your name. Okay, so it will take a while, but new histories begin all the time, so if having a history in a certain place makes it home, then it's just a matter of time before a new location becomes home, right?
When does something move from being a place where you live to a home? I know people in their forties, fifties, and sixties who still call the place they grew up home, regardless of how long it's been since they've actually lived there. Did they decide not to create a new home, or does that mean that home can't change once it's established? Maybe home isn't even a place, but rather, a social structure of some kind. For some, home refers to the place where they find their family. Until recently, the place we called home usually referred to some kind of limited geographic region. But in the past several years, communication options have changed enormously, and it's possible to talk to friends and family quickly and easily, even with video, anytime. Is home where your friends and family are? Am I getting closer to home because I'm moving physically closer to my parents, even though I've never lived in their current house? Can I take home with me because I can continue the relationships that were so much a part of my life in my last home?
I don't have a definition for home yet, and maybe I won't find one. Meanwhile, I'm going to choose to make home be flexible enough (and I'm nothing if not flexible) to encompass not just the place to which I return each evening but the people to whom I turn each day. No matter where they are. I'd love to hear other definitions!
Friday, March 29, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
All Good Things Must Come to an End
but with luck, another one will begin.
It's been a while since we've talked, yes? I have an excuse, though many of you already know what it is. Over the past few weeks, I've been planning a move to Gainesville, Florida, as I accepted a new position there. It's a dramatic change and one about which I'm both excited and nervous, but ready or not, here I come.
First things first. The job I've taken is as Technical Services Administrator for the Alachua County Library District in Gainesville, Florida, home of the University of Florida, and about 2.5 hours from my parents. So while I'm still working in a public library, it's a college town. I'll be managing the people who purchase, catalog, and process books for the library. Which is good, because I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't the first person to hear about all the new books. This should be a really interesting system in which to work, as it has its own taxing district and therefore gets money directly from taxpayers rather than from a local government. I'll be doing lots of reports and budgeting and and helping to configure our catalog records and administering of our vendor plans--all stuff I love. I love collection development and acquisitions work, and I'm excited that I'll be in a position where I can direct and lead some of what's happening with it. And if it means that I'm the first person to read the new Janet Evanovich or Mary Kay Andrews, well, then, it's just part of the job.
As much as I've hoped for more responsibility in this type of work, and as much as I've moved in my life, you might have thought I'd be less surprised at all there is to leaving a job, moving, selling a house, finding a new place to live, seeing everyone you can before leaving, and starting a new job. Can I just tell you how expensive movers are? I've always moved myself (translation: my parents have always moved me), so it was a surprise to me. Trosa, an organization dedicated to help people recovering from substance abuse that recently expanded its moving program to include inter-state moves, will be moving my things. My car and eight hours on the road will be moving me and Sasha. Who I hope will be appeased by her new screened in porch after the eight some-odd-hour drive.
Which brings me to my new apartment. I plan to rent for at least the next year. At some point, I'd like to buy again--somewhere where an HOA takes care of many of those maintenance things I hate--but I'm looking forward to not being a homeowner for a while. A non-homeowner with a pool and a fitness room, I might add. I'll be on the third floor, not my favorite, but who can't use the exercise? Plus, it gets me a better view, more sunshine, and vaulted ceilings. If you're curious, here's a video of the model apartment that has the same floorplan:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac0h1pvElGs
And the best part is that it's only 7.5 miles from work! Woo hoo! Having driven 34 miles each way for years, I couldn't possibly be more thrilled about this. Although I'm having to learn how to stop at lights again.
My house is for sale! Do you know anyone who's looking? Please? Adorable little house in a fabulous location with only county taxes! We've had some good feedback so I hope it's just a matter of time, but I'd really like for it to happen fast. Tell your friends!
Blog entries may be a bit sporadic for a while, but I promise I'll be back to it soon. Please keep in touch!
It's been a while since we've talked, yes? I have an excuse, though many of you already know what it is. Over the past few weeks, I've been planning a move to Gainesville, Florida, as I accepted a new position there. It's a dramatic change and one about which I'm both excited and nervous, but ready or not, here I come.
First things first. The job I've taken is as Technical Services Administrator for the Alachua County Library District in Gainesville, Florida, home of the University of Florida, and about 2.5 hours from my parents. So while I'm still working in a public library, it's a college town. I'll be managing the people who purchase, catalog, and process books for the library. Which is good, because I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't the first person to hear about all the new books. This should be a really interesting system in which to work, as it has its own taxing district and therefore gets money directly from taxpayers rather than from a local government. I'll be doing lots of reports and budgeting and and helping to configure our catalog records and administering of our vendor plans--all stuff I love. I love collection development and acquisitions work, and I'm excited that I'll be in a position where I can direct and lead some of what's happening with it. And if it means that I'm the first person to read the new Janet Evanovich or Mary Kay Andrews, well, then, it's just part of the job.
As much as I've hoped for more responsibility in this type of work, and as much as I've moved in my life, you might have thought I'd be less surprised at all there is to leaving a job, moving, selling a house, finding a new place to live, seeing everyone you can before leaving, and starting a new job. Can I just tell you how expensive movers are? I've always moved myself (translation: my parents have always moved me), so it was a surprise to me. Trosa, an organization dedicated to help people recovering from substance abuse that recently expanded its moving program to include inter-state moves, will be moving my things. My car and eight hours on the road will be moving me and Sasha. Who I hope will be appeased by her new screened in porch after the eight some-odd-hour drive.
Which brings me to my new apartment. I plan to rent for at least the next year. At some point, I'd like to buy again--somewhere where an HOA takes care of many of those maintenance things I hate--but I'm looking forward to not being a homeowner for a while. A non-homeowner with a pool and a fitness room, I might add. I'll be on the third floor, not my favorite, but who can't use the exercise? Plus, it gets me a better view, more sunshine, and vaulted ceilings. If you're curious, here's a video of the model apartment that has the same floorplan:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac0h1pvElGs
And the best part is that it's only 7.5 miles from work! Woo hoo! Having driven 34 miles each way for years, I couldn't possibly be more thrilled about this. Although I'm having to learn how to stop at lights again.
My house is for sale! Do you know anyone who's looking? Please? Adorable little house in a fabulous location with only county taxes! We've had some good feedback so I hope it's just a matter of time, but I'd really like for it to happen fast. Tell your friends!
While the house is for sale, Sasha is staying with her Auntie Vicki, and evidently they're having a high old time together, as Auntie Vicki is threatening not to return her. I'm madly trying to pack the many things I own, slightly embarrassing after having insisted that I only have a 1200 square foot house and couldn't possibly own very much. In my defense, a good bit of it belongs to Sasha. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the stuff that I won't need any more. And just how do you pack a breadmaker, anyway?
All of this makes it sound like I'm anxious to get out of here, and I will be glad when this is over, but it's not about leaving. It's about arriving somewhere else (I sure hope so, anyway). I'm going to miss this place more than I even know how to say. I love my house, even as I've entertained the idea of burning it down so I won't have to mow the lawn. The people I work with, well, it's hard to imagine a better group. They may never know that I've learned so much more from them than they could ever have learned from me, but either way, we provided great books to readers together. This is fantastic area in which to live, with everything anyone could ever want in entertainment, education, and resources. Oh, and basketball, don't forget the basketball. And I have friends here that I have no idea how I'm going to manage without having nearby. Skype and email, I suspect. But it's time for something new. Doing the type of work I love in more responsible capacity for an organization that supports my continued professional development; less time managing my house and more time playing. And lots of sunshine. What's not to love about sunshine? I'm looking forward to what the next phase brings.
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