Deb and Mason were tired of living in their apartment. So they packed up a box with sweaters and socks and scarves and mittens and woolen caps (because they live in West Michigan) and they moved to another apartment. Because they couldn't find a tree. Or a pond. Or a cave. Or a beach.
But the other apartment was just across the street and it was available and there was room for all their sweaters and socks and scarves and mittens and woolen caps (which they will need just as soon as summer is over because winter doesn't waste much time here in West Michigan) so they arranged to move there.
And we helped.
So on Sunday afternoon, after some of us had spent the morning at church teaching Sunday School and then Junior Worship or listening to a sermon about Finishing the Race, we went over to the old apartment and loaded up our cars with boxes and bags and blankets and shelves and drove across the street to the new apartment and walked up to the third floor and carefully put all the items we had carried onto the floor and then said good-bye and drove home to eat our lunches and take naps because all that moving had tired us out.
And we hope that they are happy in their new place, and someday might invite us over for a visit so we can enjoy their "waterfront view" (their balcony overlooks a pond) and their "entertainment loft" (they have this really cool loft room overlooking the main room where they put the big couch and the gaming systems).
Two of my favorite books in the world when I was growing up were "The Summerfolk" and "We Were Tired of Living In a House". The artwork has always stuck in my brain. They were both illustrated by Doris Burn, who wrote and illustrated "The Summerfolk". Liesel Moak Skorpen wrote the other one. I can't remember what ever happened to the family copy of those books. I'd like to get my own copies so that I can read them. To my grandchildren, I mean. Since my own kids are all grown up now. Apparently they are still available on Amazon. The books, I mean. Not my kids.
Those books always remind me of the happiest moments of my childhood. Which makes me wonder: what were the books that remind my children of the happiest moments of their childhood? I'll have to ask them.
Some of my favorite childhood memories are of the front room in our house in Atwater which I always thought of as "The Reading Room". There was this one book I read over and over again in that room; I think it was actually someone's reader from elementary school. Some of the stories in there still resonate in my brain, but I haven't been able to remember the names or the details. One of these days I'll remember the stories and maybe find the book somewhere on Amazon and order it, just for the sake of memory. I can't imagine that Mom and Dad or any of my sisters still have it hanging around somewhere. It was pretty old when I was reading it back in '70 or '71.
One of the best parts about being young back then was not knowing how many books there were in the world, how many books there were to read, and realizing that there was not enough hours in my lifetime to read them all. Had I realized that, I might've just locked myself in the local library out of sheer desperation. Had I realized the rate at which new books come out -- a rate, by the way, which has increased dramatically since then -- I might've just given up and stopped breathing altogether.
The only thing which has kept me sane throughout all this time is the thought / hope / dream that when I'm gone from this mortal existence, I'll finally have the time to read all those books. Which is somewhat paradoxical, because time will be no more and no more books will be written, and none of it will matter anymore anyway. But we all think crazy things to retain our sanity.
I had hoped to have enough time to work on my car on Saturday, but things just didn't quite work out that way.
First there was lawn mowing to do. Then there was an Open House to attend.
Or so we thought.
Actually, we weren't paying proper attention to the announcement. We knew it was an Open House for a friend of Mary's who had once lived nearby (actually in the apartment complex where Deb and Mason moved to) but then moved to another school district a few miles away. So when we saw the announcement on Facebook, we didn't really notice the address of the Open House but figured it was near the last place she'd moved to.
We were wrong.
The Open House was actually being held at a house on the other side of the state. Two and a half hours to the East.
We realized this about half an hour before the Open House was scheduled to start.
Oops!
Mary quickly sent a note to her friend, apologizing for our inability to attend. Her friend was gracious about it. I hope she wasn't too upset. I was totally embarrassed.I'm supposed to be detail-oriented. Lately, I'm just completely distracted.
So, we didn't go to the Open House, but we did get the bikes down from their hooks in the garage and ride over to our friends' house and look after their cat, Archie.
And then, finally, it was time for the exciting conclusion of Shetland, a BBC series that Cheryl got me addicted to. The final two episodes of Season 3.
Cheryl keeps doing this - getting me hooked on BBC mystery series that are on Netflix. Foyle's War. Murdoch Mysteries. Inspector Morse. Inspector Lewis. Broadchurch. Rosemary and Thyme. Endeavour. Doctor Blake Mysteries. The list goes on and on.
I think it's a plot for us to spend more time on the couch where we can spend time together, she with her crochet and me with ... nothing. Because I can't multi-task like she does. All I can do is watch the shows. And get addicted to them.
Well, one down, thirty-five to go ...
But the other apartment was just across the street and it was available and there was room for all their sweaters and socks and scarves and mittens and woolen caps (which they will need just as soon as summer is over because winter doesn't waste much time here in West Michigan) so they arranged to move there.
And we helped.
So on Sunday afternoon, after some of us had spent the morning at church teaching Sunday School and then Junior Worship or listening to a sermon about Finishing the Race, we went over to the old apartment and loaded up our cars with boxes and bags and blankets and shelves and drove across the street to the new apartment and walked up to the third floor and carefully put all the items we had carried onto the floor and then said good-bye and drove home to eat our lunches and take naps because all that moving had tired us out.
And we hope that they are happy in their new place, and someday might invite us over for a visit so we can enjoy their "waterfront view" (their balcony overlooks a pond) and their "entertainment loft" (they have this really cool loft room overlooking the main room where they put the big couch and the gaming systems).
Two of my favorite books in the world when I was growing up were "The Summerfolk" and "We Were Tired of Living In a House". The artwork has always stuck in my brain. They were both illustrated by Doris Burn, who wrote and illustrated "The Summerfolk". Liesel Moak Skorpen wrote the other one. I can't remember what ever happened to the family copy of those books. I'd like to get my own copies so that I can read them. To my grandchildren, I mean. Since my own kids are all grown up now. Apparently they are still available on Amazon. The books, I mean. Not my kids.
Those books always remind me of the happiest moments of my childhood. Which makes me wonder: what were the books that remind my children of the happiest moments of their childhood? I'll have to ask them.
Some of my favorite childhood memories are of the front room in our house in Atwater which I always thought of as "The Reading Room". There was this one book I read over and over again in that room; I think it was actually someone's reader from elementary school. Some of the stories in there still resonate in my brain, but I haven't been able to remember the names or the details. One of these days I'll remember the stories and maybe find the book somewhere on Amazon and order it, just for the sake of memory. I can't imagine that Mom and Dad or any of my sisters still have it hanging around somewhere. It was pretty old when I was reading it back in '70 or '71.
One of the best parts about being young back then was not knowing how many books there were in the world, how many books there were to read, and realizing that there was not enough hours in my lifetime to read them all. Had I realized that, I might've just locked myself in the local library out of sheer desperation. Had I realized the rate at which new books come out -- a rate, by the way, which has increased dramatically since then -- I might've just given up and stopped breathing altogether.
The only thing which has kept me sane throughout all this time is the thought / hope / dream that when I'm gone from this mortal existence, I'll finally have the time to read all those books. Which is somewhat paradoxical, because time will be no more and no more books will be written, and none of it will matter anymore anyway. But we all think crazy things to retain our sanity.
I had hoped to have enough time to work on my car on Saturday, but things just didn't quite work out that way.
First there was lawn mowing to do. Then there was an Open House to attend.
Or so we thought.
Actually, we weren't paying proper attention to the announcement. We knew it was an Open House for a friend of Mary's who had once lived nearby (actually in the apartment complex where Deb and Mason moved to) but then moved to another school district a few miles away. So when we saw the announcement on Facebook, we didn't really notice the address of the Open House but figured it was near the last place she'd moved to.
We were wrong.
The Open House was actually being held at a house on the other side of the state. Two and a half hours to the East.
We realized this about half an hour before the Open House was scheduled to start.
Oops!
Mary quickly sent a note to her friend, apologizing for our inability to attend. Her friend was gracious about it. I hope she wasn't too upset. I was totally embarrassed.I'm supposed to be detail-oriented. Lately, I'm just completely distracted.
So, we didn't go to the Open House, but we did get the bikes down from their hooks in the garage and ride over to our friends' house and look after their cat, Archie.
And then, finally, it was time for the exciting conclusion of Shetland, a BBC series that Cheryl got me addicted to. The final two episodes of Season 3.
Cheryl keeps doing this - getting me hooked on BBC mystery series that are on Netflix. Foyle's War. Murdoch Mysteries. Inspector Morse. Inspector Lewis. Broadchurch. Rosemary and Thyme. Endeavour. Doctor Blake Mysteries. The list goes on and on.
I think it's a plot for us to spend more time on the couch where we can spend time together, she with her crochet and me with ... nothing. Because I can't multi-task like she does. All I can do is watch the shows. And get addicted to them.
Well, one down, thirty-five to go ...
1 comment:
...and a frog who was a particular friend. <3
I love those old books, too, but could not read myself before we left Atwater, so my book memories there are of Jan reading to me. She had me convinced that every book had a long version and a short version, and it was not until years later that I realized the short version was actually the book summary on the cover, with a little ad-lib on the ending. But it was a clever way to satisfy a little sister's need to be read to when she wasn't really in the mood or didn't have a lot of time. Funny, though, I was never able to pull it off with my kids.
Moving kids is fun. I missed out on moving Brason last week because I was buying food for church camp. ($1992.46 worth of food was the final tally, well under budget and we had leftovers.) But I will have another opportunity in August when Braelyn is ready to move back to Tucson.
Glad you have a job again. Working in a coal mine or on an assembly line might be worse... at least it pays better than some jobs. As I was helping Brason look for his new apartment I did a little calculation, and someone who is working full time near minimum wage barely has enough money for a small apartment plus food, basic transportation, and clothing. Not much left over for health care, let alone entertainment.
Cheers, bro! You have a beautiful bunch of people who love you. And I am one of them.
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