I wish I could time travel back to around the days I was in high school during one of the many heartbreaking, painful moves. Of all of them, I’ll go with when we left Houston for Indicrapolis in February 1984. I would like to tell my 15-year-old self and say, don’t cry or be angry about this one for long.
“First, the old man will foolishly panic, take a job in North Dakota in a year. Then save your anger and grief for when your mother pisses away a chance to move to Tampa Bay several months after that.”
Obviously, the young wiseass will respond, thanks for nothing! Is it going to suck from now on? I’d jump in:
“Dude, it will get better. I won’t spoil it for you, college is going to rock because your parents will barely be around to ruin it. After you graduate, one immediate dream will come true. Finally, you’re going to return to Texas, it just won’t be Houston. It will be better and believe it or not, Austin. Now before you blurt back all the bullshit your mother said when she visited in 1983, it’s going to be way better in the future. Best of all, it will become your home and this gypsy crap your parents embrace will end. Oddly, they’re going to keep moving a while longer until they settle in a place as weak as Indicrapolis.”
Being at the same address for longer than three years is probably alien to all my friends too. I think most have moved more often than me, including picking up and going to other states and one left the country, he was lucky.
I still remember the day I closed. So much paperwork. Getting the keys was awesome! No more keys now, I replaced the locks with a keypad. It smelled like wet paint. Moving the following weekend was probably the easiest relocation too. I paid a pair of dudes with a truck and trailer. They only handled the heavy things: appliances, furniture. I recall having a month left on the apartment to tackle the boxes of crap. Bringing Molly, Miette and Wicca to the house later was fun! They dashed out of the carriers to go explore, smell places and tried to get accustomed to all the space.
Today, Chez Maggi needs a ton of work. Years of neglect, infighting, shoddy workmanship and finally evicting a hoarder (you know who) with the other back in recovery (me, I was about a year “sober” when we met) have led to a bold agenda. Jennifer has good ideas. I’m ahead on a couple: new room last year, new fridge last year, one toilet was replaced with a low-water model about a decade ago and some nice people gave us the stove I have a while back as well. I think the biggest undertaking will be pulling out all the horrible, horrible carpeting and replacing it with easier to clean flooring.
In the interim, as I get the place ready for when Jennifer’s lease expires in late January 2022, I have cleaned up the kitchen! The living room and backyard are back n’ forth chores. If the weather is decent, I use my new gear to kill the jungle in the back before noon, when it starts to really get hot in Austin. If it’s raining or there are no plans, I pick away at the living room piece by piece.
Thanks for continuing to send mail to me at the right address! Thanks for sticking by me! And to all of you who never got to come inside, nor have a chance to spend the night, José I’m talking directly to you, your chance it going to come in 2022!