Those of you who want to move their entire household twice in eight months, raise your hand!
I bet there aren’t many of you who are raising a hand …
Well, we are moving again. When we first came to Caledonia at the end of last June, we found temporary housing. It’s a house for sale in town that the owners rent out while they wait for the right buyer. It served us well these past several months, but a sudden stream of house showings perked us up enough to seek something permanent. We didn’t want to be stuck with 30-day notice to find housing. Can you imagine what that would have been like? Stressful, scary and expensive come to mind.
So, we found a little, two-bedroom piece of Caledonia to call our own and we’ve been hauling stuff up the street ever since. Hauling and painting and cleaning and sometimes complaining about what a pain in the butt it is to move.
We’ve actually got it pretty good. The majority of the sorting, donating and throwing came months ago when we left Reedsburg. Now it’s simply trying to fit and adapt the load to new surroundings.
There’s been a few interesting discoveries as we reopen storage totes and sift through shelves to decide where things will go. One example is the clothes iron. Brady and I wrote off owning an iron after needing it one day and not being able to find it. We assumed it was lost in the move. Lo and behold, the thing turned up the other night as I was clearing out a shelf in the bathroom. I held it up like a trophy and said, “Brady, we do have an iron!” Maybe we’ll need the iron again someday and my nine loyal readers will be able to remind me that the iron now rests in a bathroom cabinet at the new house. I’d put it in a closet like most people but the new house doesn’t have much closet space.
The news that we’re here to stay has been well received in my husband’s circle. One athletic coach said, “Now you can never leave. If you do we’ll get the Caledonia mafia after you.” I did not know Caledonia had a mafia — even in jest.
The need for another change has been well received by our 6-year-old, but the dog seems totally freaked out. She stays glued to our legs at the new house, and if any of us go outside to get another box or whatever, she sneaks past our legs at the door and stands by the car, ready to jump in.
We keep saying, “We’re not going to leave you, dog.”
She has a name — Asia — but sometimes I just call her “dog.” She also responds to snuppies, hound dog and Asiee.
It feels good to our family to have a place to call our own again. Brady and I always said that if it were just us we’d have no problem living in any variety of rentals. After all, we both made it through the college years unscathed. But once you have kids, the story changes and it helps to call a place your own.
That said, we are sad to leave the neighborhood that welcomed us in so quickly.
We’ll never forget the day Jean came barreling across the yards with an apple pie, walked in our back door and started cutting pieces for everyone. Then there’s the peaceful souls of Willie and Heather who hope to be organic farmers soon. To Mavis and George, I’ll miss spontaneously coming into your house to check out the prize-winning pies before they’ve even made a trip to the fair. And, Betty and David, I’ll miss sitting on your back porch admiring your garden and jawing about whatever happens to be the topic of the day.
I know we’re not going far, but there’s something special about yelling across the backyards that makes visiting easier. Now I’ll have to call and we’ll have to set things up and it will seem like we’re an hour away, even though it’s seven or eight blocks. Perhaps this summer we can have a big neighborhood reunion at our new place. We’ll make the brats, and I’m volunteering Jean for an apple pie.
You can contact Emily Bialkowski at email@example.com.