Celebrating

We are mostly settled in our new home (if you don't count the boxes in the basement) -- just in time for Christmas.  We've had lots to celebrate the last few weeks.

Sarah and Dad cutting our tree (which somehow ended up being very small)

Sarah making a graham cracker house at Grammy's

Our first dinner at our new home with Grammy

Uncle George makes a wish at his birthday party

Sarah helps blow out the candles

Sarah and Auntie Chelsey

Sophie and Cadi comfy in their new home

Making sugar cookies -- Sarah did her own frosting this year

Sarah is VERY excited about her presents and Santa this year.

A little tree for our little house

 

Sarah and Mom making peanut blossoms

The tree and Sarah's stocking waiting for Santa

P.O.'d

One of the things I love about our new home is the address.  It's a geographical name that goes back to the 18th century.  It adds to the charm and nostalgia of moving back to New Engl*nd for me, and, as R*chel Cars*n would say, bestows a sense of place on our little house.

We've been driving past the house every now and then, as we wait impatiently to occupy it, and, a couple of weeks ago, we noticed there isn't a mailbox.  In fact, the neighbors don't have boxes, either.  We wondered if there was some rule about mail delivery to homes close to the post office (we're about 1/3 mile away).

Don stopped by the little brick building at the foot of our hill to investigate and learned that, indeed, there's no delivery to our home.  The reason is a little vague.  One of the employees thought it was because the hill can be slippery in winter.  Really???  Whatever happened to "neither snow, nor rain, etc."?  As a consolation prize, we get a free post office box.  Oh, and mail sent to our street address will be returned as undeliverable.  End of discussion.

I really don't mind going to the post office to pick up the mail.  After all, it's a short walk (albeit a steep climb on the way back), and it's on the way to anywhere else we might go.  Visiting the post office every day is a good way to get to know people.  It's just that a p.o. box lacks character and, well, hominess.  It makes me feel like I'm in college again.

On the bright side, it's one fewer thing to spell when giving our address.  Having spent the last 10 years spelling my first name, last name, street name, and town name for anyone wanting to send me something, that doesn't sound too bad.  I said I wanted to simplify, didn't I? 

That doesn't mean we're done with the issue, though.  Don drove our road again and noticed that the houses a bit uphill from us have mailboxes.  Hmmm....  We'll let things slide (so to speak) for now, but once the holidays are over and the postal employees are less stressed, we plan to address the situation once more.  (Ba-dum-pum.)

A Girl of Simple Tastes

At dinner Saturday night, I mentioned that I was going Christmas shopping this afternoon.  Sarah asked if she could come, and I said, "No, I'm shopping for you."  She, of course, responded, "What are you getting me?"  When I said I wouldn't tell her, she proceeded to guess...and wouldn't give up. 

After about five minutes, I'd had enough, so when she said, "Paper towels?"  I said, "Yes!!"  You should have seen the look of self-satisfaction on her face.  She was so pleased that she finally guessed correctly.  She paraded around the house, singing, "I'm getting paper towels!  I'm getting paper towels!" and she's still talking about it. 

Fortunately, T*rget had a good supply, and I didn't even have to fight off the other moms.  Apparently, other four-year-olds aren't as taken with paper products as mine is.  I figure a roll of toilet paper and a box of tissues, and I can cross her name off my list.

A Different Kind of Thanksgiving

It was just the three of us and Grammy on Thanksgiving Day this year, so we decided to eat out for the first time ever.  We went to an old inn and tavern that happens to be just down the hill from our new house.  The meal was terribly nontraditional -- I had haddock and everyone else had prime rib -- but delicious.  We shared a huge piece of triple chocolate cake for dessert and called it good.  (Mom cooked turkey with all the trimmings on Saturday, when the H*ntleys joined us.)

 

Pulling Up Stakes and Heading East

I'm way behind with this post, but I want to capture some details of our last days in W*sconsin and journey cross-country.

 

The packers arrived the morning of the 15th and set about boxing up our life.  Sarah got home from school at lunchtime and jumped in to help.  I won't be surprised if there's an extra charge for her "assistance."  She steadily made her rounds, asking, "How are you doing?" and "Is there anything you need?"  At one point, I overheard her telling the most senior among them, "Do you know that you'll be 69 on your next birthday?" which I'm sure was appreciated.  I kept expecting her to be upset about them taking her things, but she seemed to enjoy the whole process. 

 

Helping in the kitchen

Updating Grammy

 

Too much stuff!

Friday morning, the crew returned with a huge semi.  Sarah set up shop in the sunroom, watching S*same Street on the tiny portable TV, then drawing and writing notes.  As they loaded the truck in the afternoon, she sat in the driveway, singing and making them pet her stuffed dog Vava as they went by.  She was a big hit when she handed out lollipops.

 

This is really happening!

 

Base camp

 

Supervising

 

We spent Friday night in the empty house.  Sarah thought it was high adventure.  We were all in bed by 8:00.

Playing on the iP*d in the empty living room

Happy camper in the downstairs bedroom

Saturday morning, Sarah occupied herself very well while Mom did last-minute cleaning and Dad went off to get dry ice for the coolers (we couldn't bear to part with all the homegrown fruits and veggies we'd frozen).  She and Vava raced each other back and forth from the sunroom to the far side of the living room.

Don's quest for dry ice quickly turned to an exercise in frustration as he discovered that the store that sold it was closed.  After a maddening hour or so of searching for other possible sources, he stopped at a convenience store to ask directions and learned that the clerk's brother worked at the original place.  She called him, and he met Don at the store, opening up to sell him the ice and throwing in a few extra pounds for free!

At about 12:30, we pulled out of the driveway for the last time.  I think we were too exhausted to be emotional.  I can't remember the last time I was that physically tired.  Fortunately, we had only about 120 miles to Omar and Emily's house, where we relaxed for the rest of the afternoon, enjoyed one of Emily's delicious dinners, watched Finding N*mo, and headed to bed at 8:00 again.

 

 

We hit the road at 6:30 Sunday morning, with Sarah in the S*baru with Dad and Cadi the Lab for the first leg.  Following in the V*lkswagen with Sophie, I had flashbacks to the many cross-country treks I've made in a little car with a cat as my only companion.  I was happy to be part of a family caravan this time.

 

As we passed under the open-road toll stations without even slowing down, I savored the ease of having transponders.  At the first rest stop, Sarah switched vehicles, and Don remarked casually, "I wonder whether the toll stations can read the signal with the canoe hanging over the windshield."  There went my peace of mind.

 

Traffic in Chicago was surprisingly heavy given the day and time, but we made it through without incident.  Then came the first toll station with gates.  I had removed the transponder from the windshield so that I could hold it away from the canoe.  At the last minute, however, curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to test whether it worked where it had been.  I held it by the rear view mirror and pulled slowly up to the gate.  Nothing happened.  I moved it over to the corner of the windshield, thinking, "Problem solved," and still nothing happened.  Panic struck.  I glanced in the rear view mirror, and, miraculously, there was no car behind me, so I threw it in reverse, backed up a few feet, and approached again.  The gate went up, and I was on my way.  From then on, toll booths made my heart race.

 

The rest of the day was uneventful, until we hit Cl*veland after dark.  Don led the way, and despite our best efforts, we ended up going through downtown at dinnertime, which was no picnic.  We managed to find our hotel just east of the city with only a couple of wrong turns.  Sarah was delighted to be at a hotel again.  She collected all the pens, note pads, and random pieces of paper and started taking notes.

Sarah and Big Dog watching TV at the hotel

We left before daylight Monday morning, Sarah with Dad again.  Just over the New Y*rk line, we got off the toll road for gas and a bathroom break, and Sarah switched cars.  As we re-entered the thruway, the toll station didn't read the VW transponder.  The attendant gave me a ticket and told me I'd have to stop at all the stations and hand over the transponder to be registered manually.  So much for convenience.

 

The day went smoothly -- until we hit Alb*ny, where a spur-of-the-moment decision by the lead driver (which might have been me) to deviate from the planned route, and then pass a slower vehicle, was NOT appreciated by the following driver (who was towing a boat).  I still contend the first move was a smart one; the second not so much.  And, in my defense, I had a four-year-old co-pilot.

After Alb*ny came the B*rkshire Mountains in Western M*ssachusetts. The VW hasn't been up a real hill for more than 10 years, and it struggled with the climb to 1,724 ft. (the highest point on I-90 east of South D*kota). I haven't been through that part of M*ss. in decades, and I'd forgotten how beautiful it is.

 

We exited the toll road for good in W*stfield, where I handed the last toll ticket and the transponder to the attendant, who replied, "What's this?"  I told him it was a transponder that wasn't working properly and that he'd have to register it manually.  He said, "This isn't one of OUR transponders."  I said, "I know, it's an Ill*nois one, but it's accepted in M*ss."  He said, "I don't want this," at which point, I lost it and shouted, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME -- DO YOU WANT CASH????  I'VE DRIVEN MORE THAN 1,000 MILES, AND I DON'T NEED THIS HASSLE!" to which he replied, "Lady, there's no toll between the state line and here; you don't owe anything."  I grabbed my transponder and got the heck out of there.  The funny part is that he made Don, who was right behind me, pay $6 (perhaps for having a crazy wife?).

We dropped off our precious frozen cargo at my sister's house and made it to my mom's by dinner -- with relatively few scars to show for our 1,200-mile journey.

We're more than halfway through our stay here (13 days down, 11 to go), and we're all holding up pretty well. Cadi the Lab is in heaven, playing with my mom's dogs' abundant toys.  Sophie has finally decided the strange dogs are harmless and the fat cat is fun to tease. Sarah loves being with Grammy, although I think she's starting to get bored and misses all of her toys. Don's busying himself with fix-it projects, and I'm helping with housework and setting up services for the new place. We're extremely grateful to have temporary housing but eager to get our little family settled into its new home.

Saying Goodbye

We're in our final week at the farm and busy saying goodbye to all the wonderful people we've known here.

On Saturday, we were treated to lunch by friends from the local Ch*nese association, who have been so welcoming and supportive to us.  Unfortunately, many members were involved in a badminton match taking place at the same time, so it was a small, although warm, gathering.  We will always be grateful to Wendy, who brought us to the group.

Sarah and Wendy

Sunday morning, we bid adieu to our wonderful little church.  I think leaving this loving group of people is the hardest part of moving.  They embraced us, especially Sarah, and she blossomed and thrived in their warmth.  We wish we had found them sooner.

Pastor Betsy

Sarah's Sunday School teacher, Emily, and her babysitter Kelsey, who also helps with SS

Sunday afternoon, our back-door neighbors, Jim and Linda, hosted an open house in our honor.  It was a lovely way to spend a few more hours together and say goodbye.

Linda ordered a cake with five donkeys, three goats, and some chickens on it, and this is what she got!

Sarah cut the cake.

Linda, Jim, Sarah, Marie, and Ken (our other back-door neighbors)

On Monday, Sarah had her bangs trimmed for the last time by Connie, who, I'm willing to bet, is the only hairdresser who gives her clients (at least the adorable young ones) bags of M&Ms.  I can't believe I forgot my camera.

And, finally, today we went grocery shopping for the last time and said "so long" to Peachie, our favorite cashier.  She and Sarah often exchange notes and always share a laugh.

This morning, we received the good news that our current property has been rezoned, so all systems are go for the closing next week.  Tomorrow, the movers will be here packing, and Friday they'll load.  After cleaning this big house one last time, we'll head east on Saturday, stopping at Omar and Emily's for the night, then putting in two 10-hour days to get to my mom's Monday night (I sure hope the '96 GTI has another 1,200 miles in it). 

If all goes according to plan (which, amazingly, it has so far), we'll have much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving, and, by Christmas, be settled into the charming little colonial in the woods.