Fun (with a little bit of car commercial)

Harrison or "Har-bear"
car partying

by the bean...

T. Cal announced he was going to brush his teeth while we were driving to the park and my husband and I yessed him, like we usually do when we are having a serious conversation about cabinetry. We only discovered when we arrived at the park that he indeed had a toothbrush and tooth paste in hand and had in fact brushed his pearly whites.

Yay for toothbrushes in the back seat and new houses to move them into. I love sweet moments.

Hope is Healthier

To have a room of my own will someday bring me joy.

I keep saying this to myself as if it might one day be true, but Easter weekend has slowed the ability to discover the truth in that statement.

I am not working with a realtor in my purchase of a first home, and I am not working with a lawyer, at least not my own. It seems like it would be easier having less people involved and it seems to be so far, but it is so so slow and there are never solid answers in the weird world of home purchasing.

I have not figured out yet whether there are no solid answers because "the customer is always right" or whether there are no solid answers because there just aren't and "processing" just takes time.

I have to believe people are working and that things are moving.

Otherwise I will make myself crazy negative in the brain. I don't like feeling that way.

I guess in the end a house will be purchased and since the people helping to buy and sell the house are not the actual ones who are buying and selling it, they don't seem to mind the wait.

A day here, a day there - no biggie.

So Wednesday was pushed to Friday because of paperwork on my end and then Friday was pushed to Monday...maybe Monday, maybe Tuesday because banks and offices were not in full functioning form this past weekend. It just doesn't seem right.

Week after week it seems like the sale date is going to be so close and then another weekend pops up. Maybe this week? I am hopeful.

I am hopeful that the lawyer will have time in her schedule. That the broker will hear back from the bank and be able to finalize the paperwork for the closing. I am hopeful there will be ink in the printer. I am hopeful that I will be able to take off from work and still manage to get to my bank and the lawyer's office without missing too many hours with my students. I am hopeful that there will be gas in my car at the right time.

I am hopeful that our friends who sold us the house will still be our friends after they sell us the house. I am hopeful that staying was the right choice. I am hopeful that we bought the right place.

This is more serious than any wedding or child I could have ever had.

I am hopeful because I know that time will pass and things will happen whether I am hopeful or dreadful. I choose hope.

The Dream

My prettiest sister asked me the other night, have you always known you wanted to go overseas?

The answer is yes -- yes I knew I wanted to be in a different culture and see how other people lived. I didn't want to just visit, I wanted to be there and live there.

In spite of being in another country, I didn't really feel like I lived in Turkey (since we were on the outskirts of the city and really on a multi-national campus) until my parents came to visit. Having them visit the second year really made me realize that I was picking them up at my airport. I was showing them around my town. I was leading them to the church that they should attend in my neighborhood.

It was a weird feeling to have somewhere else be my home.

The only evidence besides my memory that proved I had always wanted to live overseas was when my most thoughtful sister brought me a note I wrote to her when she moved to AZ (a big deal for me, her 18 yr old sister) that said that moving to another "culture" would be good and that I have always wanted to live in one for a few years. I even wrote, "not months, years." I was very specific in my message sending.

So the dream was to live somewhere else and I did it, so now what.

The rest of the dream was to come back, get a house, have 2 more kids, get a higher degree.

I am not sure the rest of the dream will hold up...

...not all of it at least. I have gotten to a point where I am okay with that.

I do my best dreaming in the car, and my mind often drifts to my college graduation where we broke clay pipes before lining up to process as a symbol of getting rid of our pipe dreams.

Dreams change. We change. For the better.

I think my kids have reshaped the dream, my husband has reshaped the dream. They were part of it from the beginning, but the way I see the world and what I care about has changed.

The dream involves them and is for them, its not about what I want anymore.

It's what I want for them.

My family is a piece of art, so I guess I need to start chipping away at this great sculpture of David (not you Pellicane) because he is hot and I want my family to be hot too.

Respectable

On my way home everyday I exit the highway and go on an exit ramp toward the town where I live. As I drive on this ramp, I can look to my right and see an underpass that goes beneath the bridge I cross. This underpass always entices me to look and part of my routine is to imagine what it is like to hang out there.

A bunch of people have made this spot, their place to go after work, their "Charlie Browns" I suppose or their bowling alley, depending on who you hang out with. It has really become quite a community hang out.

When driving by I frequently think to myself, do these people who hang out under there know what they look like to the passersby? Do they know that they represent the not so nice part of society? Or do they just think this is how life is and that they must keep pushing on like the rest of us? Or do they think everyone's life should involve chatting under a bridge?

I mean, there were a few weeks when the borough (not city) was doing construction on the bridge and had to send its pedestrians (I live in a walkable town) under the bridge. I think most walkers planned their route to avoid the stretch that extended itself under the passageway. But it did seem like the clan below grew in those few weeks, as if the pedestrians decided to add the chat under the bridge to their commute. I wondered, did some people say to themselves, "Hey - since I am taking this walk under the bridge, why not hang out under it for part of my life."

I sometimes wish I could make that choice, if only to write a book about it. (Would it be exploitation...or could I convince myself it is just good journalism?).

It has been about a month or two since the construction on top the bridge ceased and the walking over the bridge resumed.

As I drive by now I let my eyes drift and observe what goes on down under the bridge because I think I carelessly dream of living amongst the bridge dwellers.

But this week, I noticed something different....

Could it be? Could it be that they have civilized themselves? Maybe they are preparing a place for me, it is my time...

It took about 7 days to let it sink in, but I finally affirmed - they have a recliner and a garbage can at the hang out spot now.

It really brightens up the place, and makes me question my choice of becoming a homeowner. Maybe dwelling beneath the underpass might be a better option.

My kids wouldn't mind living near the river, under a concrete slab with cars whizzing by...

...now, of course, since there is somewhere to put up your feet and throw away diapers.

What a Day Brings

For 3 mths I have been wondering what my life will look like starting September 2011. The teaching profession helps me define myself from September to June, but what next? After June, then what?

I was determined to use my imagination every day to see what sort of life I could concoct for my family. I kept pushing my mind to come up with something good. A good Canadian friend once said to me in regards to my son, "Without imagination, what else do we have?"

My imagination came up with some life options, none of which seemed viable.

Possible jobs in other countries, possible jobs in other states, living and working in different states, having a house in one country and living and working in another. Leaving a good pension and retirement (well, for now) for something "better."

In this state (of being), it is hard to care about anything. It is unhealthy. Bonds become looser, reputation becomes less important, relationships wane.

For a while I felt like the state of the union. What was next? The only thing I knew I should do was to work hard and have faith.

It became my mantra. Something that made no tangible sense, but I had to exercise. The sacrifice of paying rent equivalent to a mortgage was like a good spinning class. The payout was tremendous.

After all the spinning, September looks better than I ever could have imagined, but luckily the class is over for now.

I made a phone call to my husband on a Tuesday afternoon and was given a report: our friends offered to sell us a house in the town I want to live in at a price that we can afford.

Boy was I worried about all that faith practice not making a difference. How wrong I was.

I resolve to never doubt again.