Tagged: moving RSS

  • aly hawkins 5:44 pm on 27 April 2007 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , moving   

    Place matters. 

    I hate moving. I’ll just get that out there so there’s no confusion. I’ve moved over 20 times in my young-ish life (not counting packing up every three months for three years at boarding school, or the come-and-go college thing) and that’s more than enough for anybody, even anybodies who like moving, which I’m pretty sure I was clear that I don’t.

    On the other hand, there’s nothing quite as wonderful as finally moving out of [read: escaping] a place you don’t like living, especially if what’s waiting for you on the other end already feels like home. (Aside: Moving also doesn’t suck quite as much when you have good friends who help out — not just with the truck loading and whatnot, but also with the “Here, let me pack up your kitchen. That way you don’t have to evaluate whether or not you should keep the seven-eighths-empty container of chili powder that looks like an abandoned ant farm. I’ll decide, because I can evaluate the chili powder without sentiment or equivocation.” I’ve decided that the next time I move — God grant that it shall be far, far in the future — I’ll have friends pack up my whole house. There are enough pressing decisions to be made in the world without me having to agonize over near-empty spice bottles. Aside ends here.)

    Ash and I bought a condo about three years ago, which seemed like an excellent idea at the time. They say that home ownership is the best investment you can make outside of an education, bloo-blee-bloo, and we took the plunge. Newsflash: Home ownership is the best investment you can make if you actually want to live where you buy a house. They neglected to mention this small (yet not insignificant) caveat, and we spent the last three years trying to make the best of living in a condo and a community that just never felt like home. In case you’re wondering, three years is a really, really long time to make the best of anything.

    We sold our little place to a guy who seems genuinely excited about it (God bless him), and found a kick-ass little house to rent (God bless Craiglist) with a big back yard, hardwood floors, a separate space for Ash’s studio and Thai, Italian and Texas-style BBQ all within walking distance…not to mention terrific landlords, Marty and Eden, who live on a ranch in Santa Paula with four rodeo horses and 14 (yes, fourteen) rescue dogs.

    When Ash and I came to take a look at this place three weeks ago, I walked through the side gate and thought, “Hey, it’s our home.” Being a third culture kid, I’ve maintained for a long time that “home” is people, not a place. But I’m starting to re-evaluate this position — I’m beginning to think that place matters.

    This idea is still totally alien to me, but I think there’s something to it. What I’m thinking is that it’s not necessarily specific places — i.e., Wewoka, Oklahoma or Okefenokee, Georgia — it’s the vibe of a place that makes it matter. The values vibe. (Not speaking politically here.) Everybody has something that is really important to them, and if the place they’re livin’ doesn’t let them do that thing with some ease and regularity, it’s never gonna feel like “home.”

    Before Ash & I got married, I lived on the Reisser Compound in what is still affectionately known as The Puppy Palace. Long ago, The Palace was Carrie’s playhouse, then a poolside changing area, then Zack’s House of Unspeakable Acts, then the birthplace of a litter of Chelsea the Wonder Dog’s (RIP) puppies, then a storage unit for stage costumes, then my apartment. (Now?? I don’t know. Maybe its original purpose has been revived for Ella.) But as booty as The Palace was, it was home — I could easily and regularly do the things that are important to me: hang out with friends in a beautiful place talking about and doing life, and be creative. And I haven’t had that since.

    But…six years later (to the day), I find myself again, finally, “at home” in a place where I can do the things that are important to me — to recap: hang with friends, be creative — with ease and regularity. (And I don’t have to live in a former canine maternity ward to do so. Which is a plus.)

    The point of this incredibly over-long post is that I’m grateful. God is good even when things are crap, and I’m glad to have experienced crap if only to recognize this important fact. But man, I’m a fan of blessings…and I can’t wait to share them with you. The side gate’s open. I’ve got fixin’s for s’mores. Bring a beverage. Make yourself at home.

     

    • Sharolyn 8:57 am on 28 April 2007 Permalink

      S’mores… you’re killin’ me… I’ll be right over. :) I have some unorganized thoughts on this topic. Thanks for the influence of your insights.

    • Zack 9:43 am on 28 April 2007 Permalink

      Just so you know, Ally – every one of those Acts is, in fact, speakable.

    • June 4:51 pm on 28 April 2007 Permalink

      Congrats! Whoo-hoo!

      Three years IS a long time…that’s how long we lived in Nashville…we kept waiting to start liking it. Then, we moved to California.

    • Morphea 11:11 am on 29 April 2007 Permalink

      Ugh, Nashville. I hate Nashville.

      I’m so, so happy for you, Aly and Ash.

      Cerise

    • Karen 8:02 pm on 29 April 2007 Permalink

      Why is Nashville so bad? We like it here…aside from the humidity in the summer and the freezing cold without actual snow in the winter and the bugs.

      Place really does matter. Great post Aly! I am so glad you and Ash have found your place.

    • grammy 9:40 pm on 29 April 2007 Permalink

      And just for the record, the Puppy Palace is about to be de-spiderized, painted, and indeed returned to its original function, a princess playhouse for said granddaughter, Ella. I bought the wooden miniature kitchen at Costco for $100. It has 4,724 parts. I propose a backyard pool party during which you all put the blasted thing together!

      Aly, Paul and I want a place on your calendar for weird food, great wine, smokes and hanging with the twos of youse in your new digs!

    • June 11:03 pm on 29 April 2007 Permalink

      And, when you’re all done with the toy kitchen, you can come help us put together the play structure we bought at Costco. It weighs 800 pounds and has more pieces than that. Aly and Ash, if the new place doesn’t work out, you can take up residence in it. It has a roof and a table after all…and you could sleep on the slide. Well, one of you could.

      If it weren’t for the weather, the geography and the culture, I’d love Nashville! Hey Karen, saddle up one of those bugs and head west sometime…”dry heat” is not a myth. (And I’ll load up the iced tea with a pound of sugar to make ya’ll feel at home.)

    • Karen 10:44 am on 30 April 2007 Permalink

      The funny thing is I am mostly from California. Unfortunatly for us I don’t think we can ever move back to California. I miss it a lot sometimes. I am not a sweet tea drinker, can I come have a diet coke?

    • June 2:26 pm on 30 April 2007 Permalink

      Of course you can have a diet Coke…and I’ll add some fresh lemon. And for the record, I can understand why people like “Nashvull”.

    • Morphea 2:37 pm on 30 April 2007 Permalink

      I’m not saying Nashville is bad. I know many people who live and visit there and love it. I just don’t like it there. I spent the worst 6 weeks of my life to date in that city and I never want to see it again. So, Karen, it’s not your citay. It’s just me. And the crazy dickheads who helped make it a plague-ridden location for my psyche.

    • Karen 3:23 pm on 30 April 2007 Permalink

      I can definitely understand that. There are places like that for me too Cerise! Maybe you can come visit and we can fix that horrible memory with a better one.

    • Morphea 3:57 pm on 30 April 2007 Permalink

      That would be kewl. Thanks!

  • aly hawkins 8:01 am on 21 April 2007 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , moving, oak-view, , wedding-anniversary   

    Moving day 

    You know what’s a great way to spend your sixth wedding anniversary? Moving. (Here’s to us, babe.)

     

    • Karen 6:05 am on 22 April 2007 Permalink

      Happy Anniversary! :) I was thinking about your wedding the other day when I pulled out my weddings scrapbook. So beautiful! Where did six years go?

    • Cliff 6:49 pm on 23 April 2007 Permalink

      Happy Anniversary Aly & Ash! Having moved a few times myself, I strongly recommend one of those bottles you seem to be carrying around as an aperitif. I suspect you’ll need it before tackling the kitchen.

    • Morphea 9:06 am on 24 April 2007 Permalink

      Happy Anniversary, my dears. I can’t wait to see your place. Go easy on yourselves, and love to the cats and Her Majesty.

      Cerise

    • Morphea 11:40 am on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      YO – can we kick these congrats up a notch?

      Geez.

    • corey 11:48 am on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      sorry.

      CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
      A THOUSAND TIMES, CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!

    • Morphea 2:16 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      [laughing]

    • aly hawkins 2:21 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      Nothing like best wishes at the business end of a gun.

    • Morphea 3:31 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      No need to thank me.

    • corey 4:48 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      “the business end of a gun”

      This is a phrase that I MUST over-use in the next few months. Please prepare your appetites accordingly.

    • Morphea 5:30 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      Prepare our appetites? For what – eating lead?

    • corey 8:01 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      it’ll be an “Ear Feast”.

    • June 10:00 pm on 25 April 2007 Permalink

      So sorry…where are my manners?! Congratulations on both the wedded bliss and the move! Whoo-hoo all around!

  • Chad 2:18 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: amy-grant, , , , if-these-walls-could-speak, , memories, , moving, sentimentality   

    If These Old (Condo) Walls Could Speak 

    At this moment, in the adjacent room, my children are enjoying their final naps in our current residence. This evening, they will be driven by yours truly to Irvine, where there will be a hand-off to Grandma and Grampa, who will take them home with him to San Diego, where they will enjoy a leisurely weekend.

    While they are gone, their mother and I will continue furiously sorting, trashing, and packing all of our worldly belongings in preparation for an actual move this coming Sunday. When they are returned to us, we will be in our new place.

    Now, the funny thing is that we’re still the owners of our current residence, and there’s a fair chance we might actually come to live here again, once The Dailies gets firing on all cylinders. In the meantime, renters will subsidize our extravagant, luxurious lifestyle.

    I’m terribly sentimental today. They were both brought here directly from the hospital. They both learned to walk and talk and think (a little bit) here in this 1000 square feet. They learned about family and cartoons, and migratory ducks, and looking both ways before crossing the street, and asking nicely for a glass of water, and that they like the silicone binkies, and not the rubber ones.

    I believe the reason that I am sentimental is that I know that these memories will be mine and Erica’s alone, as we don’t often recall our memories from prior to age four, and certainly not from fifteen months. The memories that they will take from their childhood have yet to begin. This place will be a place they are forced to visit whenever mom and dad want to stroll down memory lane.

    I believe Amy Grant has made one truly great record in her career, 1988′s Lead Me On. I still listen to this album from time to time, and marvel at how well it has aged, save an inevitable case of Late 80′s Big Snare. Near the beginning of the B-side, there’s a little piano ballad called, If These Walls Could Speak. The lyrics capture my day perfectly.

    Before I leave you with the lyrics lemme tell you this: do yourself a favor today, and grab your kids, or your spouse, or your girlfriend or boyfriend, or brother or sister, and even a friend, and embrace them. Remember how their hair smells. Take a mental snapshot of them standing in the foyer or sitting in their favorite chair. Listen to and appreciate the timbre of their voice, the word choices, and the phrasing. Change is coming, always.

    If These Walls Could Speak

    Written by Jimmy Webb

    If these old walls,
    If these old walls could speak
    Of the things that they remember well,
    Stories and faces dearly held,
    A couple in love
    Livin’ week to week,
    Rooms full of laughter,
    If these walls could speak.

    If these old halls,
    If hallowed halls could talk,
    These would have a tale to tell
    Of sun goin’ down and dinner bell,
    And children playing at hide and seek
    From floor to rafter,
    If these halls could speak.

    They would tell you that I’m sorry
    For being cold and blind and weak.
    They would tell you that its only
    That I have a stubborn streak,
    If these walls could speak.

    If these old fashioned window panes were eyes,
    I guess they would have seen it all–

    Each little tear and sigh and footfall,
    And every dream that we came to seek
    Or followed after,
    If these walls could speak.

    They would tell you that I owe you
    More than I could ever pay.
    Heres someone who really loves you;
    Dont ever go away.
    Thats what these walls would say.

     

    • Zack 2:45 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink

      Funny. About 10 years ago, I wrote a song about your old house, Chad. The Montgomery one. Some of these lyrics look familiar….

    • michael lee 3:09 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink

      I’m on my way out the door to go pick up my wife and daughter at the airport, after they’ve been gone to Texas for a week. This struck me in exactly the right spot today. I’ve been missing them terribly.

    • Morphea 3:41 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink

      Zack, stealin’ lyrics from Amy Grant…wow, I have no headspace for that. At all.

      Chad, there is nothing I can write on this qwerty that will suffice. You’re amazing. I love you. Be well this weekend, poor things.

      Cerise

    • Daniel 3:53 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink

      I saw Amy Grant 2 or 3 years ago with Smitty in the OC.
      She was truly terrible…

    • aly hawkins 4:08 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink

      Man, I remember helping you kids move in there. That was the night you announced Ella’s name, and we all cried after slogging in your enormous couches.

      It’s good to have history.

    • Rach 5:54 pm on 12 April 2007 Permalink

      Ah yes, that was one of the first songs that I taught myself to play. I’m a sucker for gorgeous and haunting…

    • Paul 10:39 pm on 14 April 2007 Permalink

      On a very hot day in September, 1989 we moved into our current home (where the Dailies and their children will reside for a season) after packing up ten years worth of stuff from another house. We had moved there when Chad was 3 and his sister was baby. As I walked through all of the rooms the last time and then drove away, “If these walls…” played in my mind, and I could barely drive to the new place because I was so overcome with emotion — not for the rooms, but for all that had taken place there. I am getting rather verklempt now thinking about it.

      Two lines from “Wake Us,” referring to the owners of “twenty small fingers, twenty small toes,” are a notable collorary to “If These Walls” —

      The house is the shelter,
      But they are the home…

    • Paul 10:44 pm on 14 April 2007 Permalink

      Sorry, I misspelled “corollary,” and meant to say that Chad’s sister was “a baby.”

      It’s late. Let’s hear it for proofreading.

    • JC 9:09 am on 16 April 2007 Permalink

      As someone who will be moving this summer and has moved several tims over the past 25 years, I can totally relate. I find moving a deeply emotional time. It’s almost like breaking up with someone you really, really care about. You know it’s the end…and it should be…but there is still a lot of love and memories there, but the physical connection is gone forever. It seems too final for something that played such an important role in our lives. Good luck Chad & Erica on this new chapter in your life!

  • Gretchen 9:00 pm on 16 March 2007 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , house, , , moving, oakland, , ,   

    The End of Childhood 

    I may be 30 something. I may be a wife and mother. I may have graduated from college, graduate school and have my own business, but just this last week I had to face the end of childhood.

    After almost 40 years, my parents are selling their house. My childhood home. The only home I ever knew until leaving for college and starting out on my own. It’s the home where all my memories are from. The place where I brought friends home from school, so we could play dress up in the playhouse in the backyard. It was the place I first learned how to ride a bike, roller skate and put on makeup. It was where I learned that matches hurt if you let them burn down too low, that crayons melt in the heater vents on the floor, that you can slide all the way down the steps on your stomach to save time if you don’t feel like walking. This is where I helped my dad almost build a doll house. This is where I cried over my first crush, where I got ready for my first dance, carved pumpkins, learned to cook and had slumber parties. This is where I learned to drive, had a curfew and late night talks with boys. This is where I proudly brought friends home from choir tours so they could have a restful night at “home” and hot fudge sundaes. This is where Mike nervously asked my dad for my hand in marriage and where I spent my last night before becoming his wife. It is home.

    Weiss House

    But this period of my life and that of my parent’s life has come to an end. And it’s okay. Actually I was in the party that encouraged them to do so. It’s not as if my parents are settling for anything less than what they’ve known. They have an incredibly gorgeous home in Northern Washington on 10 beautiful acres, complete with 3 ponds, a horse pasture, wine in the making and a forest to get lost in. A grandkids’ paradise. Oh yeah, and a new playhouse that kicks the old playhouse’s butt.

    But this past week I’ve been nostalgic. I came up to the Bay Area for the week with Sophia, to help my parents pack. Now, many of you readers have actually been to my parent’s home in Oakland and know that this is no small task. As I have said, my parents have lived there for almost 40 years. My parents, especially my mom, are what you call “collectors”. They have incredible antiques, and more collections than one can count, or would even want to. My mom is an entertainer, and has all the dishes, service wear, linens, and centerpieces to go along with it. This past week has been exhausting, but gratifying. I accomplished a lot. I got to go through memories. I got to throw things away! (Something I’ve always secretly wanted to do ☺) It’s been an emotional time for my parents, who are not only moving their lives, but having to make difficult financial decisions along the way as well. It’s hard to have painters, realtors, stagers and more come in and tell you all the ways that your house is imperfect or not quite right for the cliental who will want to buy it. It slowly starts becoming a building and less and less your home. It slowly starts becoming some one else’s home, even though you don’t know who that might be yet. And that feels weird.

    Then there are all those projects that are finally being done, that you just never had the time or money for. Now you get to see them through, for someone else. Oh well.

    Having Sophia with me was great. True, she could unpack a box just as quickly as I could pack it. But man, my parent’s house was a paradise for a curious 20 month old. She had a great time exploring. It helped rejuvenate my mom and dad to have her around. Nothing like taking a break from hauling boxes to zerbert a little tummy or help color the boxes in the living room with crayons. I loved watching her explore my old toys, my old haunts. I loved bathing her in the same great bath tub that I used to sit in with my sister Heather as our dad would sit at the doorway singing old 20s songs on his ukelele. I laughed as she discovered the joy of dropping coins through the slots in the railing up stairs just to watch them land on the steps below. I loved watching her climb up on the big couches and chairs and just sit and look at her books while the hustle and bustle went on around her.

    I needed this time. I needed to let go, to say goodbye. I needed a chance to sort through life, memories and unnecessary necessities. In saying goodbye I could be excited for what is ahead for my mom and dad, and for my own kids. I’m glad I could have this week with Sophia here in my childhood home, even if I’ll be the only one with the memory of it. I’m excited that she and peanut 2 will have new memories in Washington, of adventure and family. I know that home is where my family is, not just this structure. I love that my family has become more than my mom, dad and siblings. I love that Mike and I have a chance to one day have our own home to help build memories in. That my own children will have to go through all my junk and ask me why I kept it all. I’m excited for all the life there is ahead of us. I can let go of the past 30 years without losing any of the memories. I don’t need the building to help me hang on to those. I don’t need all of my childhood toys or old letters to help me recall the love and compassion that was shared under this roof.

     

    • Karen 5:08 am on 17 March 2007 Permalink

      Congrats that your parents are getting to move up there. Your post made me cry though…Maybe because the longest I have lived anywhere is in the house Bobby and I are in right now. I never had that sense of permenence. It is a bittersweet feeling to have to close the chapter on childhood.

    • michael lee 12:43 pm on 17 March 2007 Permalink

      I didn’t get wheepy when she read it to me last night. Nope. Not me. I’m not a crier.

      I have a lot of fond memories of that house, although mine are more recent. Every New Years Day, Phil sets up a bunch of TVs in the upstairs room that’s covered with Coke memorabilia, and we watch all the bowl games. There are puzzles and games downstairs in the dining room. People drift in and out all day long, and there’s always the ceremonial cracking of the first beer by Phil at 12:01, (if you drink before noon, you’re an alcoholic).

      I remember my knees shaking when I sat in that same room and asked Phil for his blessing to marry his daughter. We talked for about an hour, and he asked me a lot of questions about my life and where it was heading. He also shared with me his perspective on the things that would be important for Gretchen in any marriage. I was struck by how well he knew his daughter (in talking to the other son-in-laws, they all came out of that talk feeling the same way about his relationship with the daughter they eventually married), and how deeply he cared about their happiness in life.

      There have been only a handful of Christmases in that house, for me, but every one has been memorable. Sandy puts up nativity sets in every room, including bathrooms (and probably closets too, for all I know). The traditions and family liturgy of holidays in that house was filled with meaning, in a way that makes it easy to join in and participate in the sacredness of the moment.

      Phil thinks I’m slightly mentally retarded because, no matter how many times I’ve washed up dishes with him after a meal, I still have no idea where things go in that kitchen. Now, I have to start all over again.

      I’m excited about the new house in Washington. It might sound funny, but in some ways I feel like that house will be more special to those of us who joined the family late, because we get to be part of the memories of that place from the very beginning. I was in the truck the first time that they drove us past it, before they decided to buy it. I got to be part of the planning and discussion of the remodel and addition. I planted the vineyard with Phil and Brian, and my sweat and blood (literally) are in the soil of the place. My first Christmas there was their first Christmas too.

      I’ll miss the old house, in a very different way than my wife does, of course. But I’m also excited for new chapters.

    • june 5:58 pm on 17 March 2007 Permalink

      Ok you two, just stop!…I’m plum out of Kleenex!

    • june 6:08 pm on 17 March 2007 Permalink

      Ok, I think this post is an appropriate one in which to say: I just luuuuve this blog! It’s like the magazine I’ve always wished was out there but have never found…articles on everything from saying goodbye to one’s childhood home to well-written theological fare (Mike, Aly…Aly, where art thou?) to laugh-out-loud essays on any/everything (Chadness)to heart-wrenching insight (Corey) to smarty-pants witticisms (Ash). And there’s even purty pictures.

    • aly hawkins 9:48 am on 18 March 2007 Permalink

      I’m a bit weepy, too. It’s truly the end of an era — and the beginnings of another. The best thing about your folks, Gretchen, is that they will make Home wherever they are. Yeah, place matters — but they take what is so special about the Weiss Family with them everywhere.

      June – sorry about being so out of the loop. I still read every day to keep up with what’s going on with everybody, but haven’t had much time to write. Ash and I have been in a weird, good season of focusing inward to figure out what is next for us, way-of-life/way-of-ministry wise, and we’ve had to cut out a lot of “outward” energy and activities to do so. I’ll probably post about it soon, but right now we’re trying to tend the baby birds of our future, which doesn’t leave a lot of time for flights of fancy! We’d both appreciate everyone’s prayers as we screw up our courage to step into what’s around the corner. (Umm…lots of mixed metaphors, anyone? With mayo and pickles?)

    • Paul 9:49 pm on 18 March 2007 Permalink

      I got teary-eyed reading this post aloud to Teri (Grammy) as we drove home from a wondferful week at June Lake (see our response to Mike’s “100 Things…” post. You are an excellent writer, and this should be published somewhere. And, it sounds like your folks were wonderful parents. This is a sweet tribute to them.

    • Morphea 12:21 pm on 19 March 2007 Permalink

      Lovely, Gretchen. And as the only Washingtonian on this blog (I think), can I ask that at least one of those new WA adventures include hanging out at the zoo with Crazy Cerise?

      Cerise

    • Morphea 12:29 pm on 19 March 2007 Permalink

      Ooh, or touring the lavender farms in Sequim? (pronounced “Skwim” – this’ll be important for you parentals to know)

      [giggle]

    • michael lee 1:11 pm on 19 March 2007 Permalink

      Only if Sophia actually gets to call you “Crazy Aunt Cerise” the whole time we’re at the zoo.

    • Morphea 2:47 pm on 19 March 2007 Permalink

      Deal.

      It would be more than worth it.

      Crazy Aunt Cerise (thanks for the ‘Aunt’. I didn’t want to presume…)

    • Cliff 6:14 pm on 19 March 2007 Permalink

      Gretchen,

      Beautifully written. I am glad that you had the chance to say good-bye that way. My parents moved out of the old homestead a couple years ago, and I didn’t really take the opportunity to do that. I was too wrapped up in the details to spend the time being aware of this big change that was happening. Better late than never, I guess — thanks for the reminder.

      I want to echo June’s comment on the wonderful writing here. I would never have believed that I could come to so enjoy the company of people I have never even met! Thanks for inviting us all in.

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