new kid in town

We did it! Our relocation to the city is complete. Well, if you can call 32,049..oops, I mean, 32,053 people- a city. Oy, heavens, vey, what an exhausting last couple of weeks. I am bruised, battered, blog-deprived and broke. Big Daddy? I’m amazed he didn’t pull a quick left in the U-Haul and admit himself back into ICU to hide away from all the boxy shenanigans. No wonder “moving” is on the Top Five list of the most stressful life experiences. They say death and divorce is worse, but I don’t think so. Why is it, that ya think you've gotten rid of all that junk in the last move only to find it is still there...tucked away in the musty corner of your Fibber McGee closet? I am still trying to figure out why I kept 200 of my headshots when I moved here to the Ozarks from L.A. Uh, hello. It's not like Hollywood will be calling anytime soon. I haven't even had mascara on in the last four years, for criminy sakes. And don’t get me started on my significant other. He has no less than five boxes of what he calls “memorabilia”. Basically, it is every script he has ever held in his hands and enough copies of his demo reel to run well into the next century or stretch itself out to the Space Station, whichever is longest. All I know is this...I am beat, I have paint brush in hand, I'm gazing at a lawn full of beautiful green grass..rock-free, I can get to the store in five minutes flat and I'm close to a Linens & Things which has given this budgeted mom a killer deal on a cast-iron banana holder and a mod pillow sham. The irony of it all though? Mama is fully ensconced in a dry county. Oh, yeah. Scary, isn't it? No need to worry our little heads about that though. even with gas at $3.89 a gallon, I’d drive across the friggin’ Sahara in a Hummer to get a bottle of wine. I mean, please.

Yes, indeedy, we are settling right on in to our brick abode very nicely, thank you. The Mag union was on the brink of disaster but now that we can both brush our teeth at the same time, side by side..while doing jumping jacks if we want to- all is working out just fine. The girls are enthralled with their Craig’s List bunk bed, having a sidewalk to finally ride the trike they’ve had, unused, for three years now, and, hey, the 8x 10 bruise on my right leg has even begun to heal after kicking an empty Wal-Mart sack out of my way, with all the might I could muster, mind you...only to end up bashing the 75 pound piece of daybed I was carrying. That one spawned quite a few colorful words, folks. Thank goodness, my kids were sitting in front of the T.V. in the brain-dead, drooly stance that they've held for about three weeks now. It's a wonder Child Protective Services hasn't come knocking. Now if I only had the bucks for a massage therapist, I might just make it out of this whole thing in an upright and locked position again. Instead, I will hobble across my fabulously tiled floor, help myself to a frosty one out of the stainless steel ice-maker fridge that conveyed, enjoy a luxurious dip in my stand-up shower, resume mothering my two children, tuck my visiting pals into their very own room instead of a blow-up mattress in front of the fireplace, dance a jig in my walk-in closet and, unfortunately, grab my industrial-sized box cutter and start slashing up the two tons of recyclable cardboard I have sitting on my back porch.

my canopy of green

Well, it just may be official. It's looking like Mama might be a hillbilly. While packing up boxes for the umpteenth day in a row, preparing for a move that will either kill me or put me into re-hab quicker than I thought, I found myself suddenly out of packing tape. Well, you guessed it; I had to bring out the old, gray multipurpose goddess of the South- duct. Or as they call it around these parts..”duck tape”. Well, I guess I haven’t completely gone over to the other side until the door of my Honda comes loose and I attach it with a couple strips of that magic stuff, but I’m very close, people. Don't forget, I still haven't repaired my broken windshield yet.

So the latest Mag news for anyone who gives a flip is.....we have pulled out our swords of courage, sharpened 'em up and are facing our fangiest, snarliest innermost demon..pen poised just above the divorce papers..risking life, limb, liver and sanity like never before. Yep, we’re moving. The cardboard scramble is in full motion, my nerves are shot and time is breathing down my waddley neck like no tomorrow, but the new double-wide we just bought is gorgeous, dah-lings! But seriously, the Mag Family will be pulling up stakes in two weeks or so and moving to the city. The corrupt oil barons have pulled me out of the village and back into what Big Daddy and I like to call, "Truman-ville". Yeah, yeah, we'll be saving gas money out the wah-zoo, and we'll have our ankle biters in a more desirable district for expanding their little noggins and we will actually have a bathroom that the both of us can walk into at the same time but...Mama's just a wee bit verklempt over leaving her cottage in the trees. This place has meant so much to me- a peaceful haven..my niche in the woods. It was my first home, a transition for me on so many levels, the nest that welcomed my precious newborn T., the banister that steadied me when I left the West Coast and all my old pals. It has provided me a window to see the deepest part of myself, a deck that allows me to float among the trees. a perfect place for a quiet respite..contemplation, a whole lot of butt kicking prayer and quite a few tranquil moments of profound appreciation and it cradled me all those scary nights when I was afraid that my man might never see it again.

With every move we make in our lives, no matter what kind it is...it gives us an opportunity to take a nice big refreshing inhale on all that we have learned, all that we've shared, reminding us that we can never get too comfortable really, that life isn't static but constantly moving..changing..whether we think we're ready for it or not. I've learned in my forty somethin' years that no matter what..those boxes in our lives are gonna get shuffled, re-stacked, re-organized, some aren't gonna need the bubble wrap in them anymore and others may just need an extra piece of tape or two to hold them together and make them stronger. And, unfortunately, some of our stuff may have become damp and moldy and it's just time to let it go. And then if we're lucky we get to find a golden treasure box way up in the corner of our attic that was given to us by all the beautiful people that shared in this particular part of our journey. My neighbors have been so special here..supporting me with a smile, a warm meal, a friendly wave when I needed it most. My brindled tenant, the owl, has gifted me with his evening song, my extended hawk family have shown me their perfection in flight and the full moon has lit up so many of my nights with its majesty and mystery...casting it's milky reflection and ethereal beauty through the three-story forest. I believe I will miss it the most.

To the couple who will soon live here, who have both retired after serving our country, who lost it all from a recent tornado, who have so needed to find peace again in their lives, I wish you well here, friends. You will find everything you're looking for, all that you need..and more. I promise. Thank you, Michael and Peggy, for loving this place like I have loved it.