In August 1996 our son Greg moved into a ground floor apartment walking distance from NAIT. I had lovingly selected this first home-away-from-home building for its location and no-nonsense landlady.
Because he hated the strict rules of the surrogate mother (a.k.a. landlady) he was on the move again the following August. This time he and his cousin picked a top-floor suite facing west and onto a busy thoroughfare. With never-ending traffic noise, temperatures rivalling hell, and three flights of stairs they were gone again in August. I guess dragging the large Sklar-Peppler sofa down three floors wasn’t that appealing because apparently the Salvation Army became the recipient of that piece of furniture.
Eventually I lost track of where Greg moved, who he lived with, and what other worldly goods he abandoned along the way. We weren’t estranged or anything; he just started making those decisions himself and parental visits weren’t, ahem, encouraged. It was about 2000 or 2001 when he told us he was moving in with Carrie ?because she needed a roommate.?
Apparently we looked like we’d just fallen off the turnip truck. In August of 2002 Greg and Carrie moved into their first home as newlyweds.
In the meantime, Hilary was coming along in the world. Her first move, in August, was to live with Greg and Carrie. The following August she moved to a suite just off Whyte Avenue. The next August she moved into her grandfather’s condo with a cousin. In August 2006 she bought her own condo and we thought we were finally done with the August moves.
It was becoming onerous because, unlike Greg, Hilary didn’t leave any possessions behind. Each time there was more, and dad and I aren’t getting any younger.
Is it even possible to believe that here we are moving baby girl yet again in August? She’s bought a bigger condo in a better neighbourhood. So for the past few weeks we’ve been psyching up and prepping for what we pray is the final move for at least 10 years or until She’s married, whichever comes first.
As I spent a day wrapping decorative pieces I noticed a helluva lot of vases. On closer examination it became painfully clear that I’d given her most of them. Is this poetic justice or what? I love the decorating, home décor aspect of these moves.
Picking the right shade of Benjamin Moore paint. Re-covering cushions. Displaying prized possessions. Making it all work. Repurposing old stuff, scoring deals at second-hand stores or garage sales. Creating custom art for the final finishing touch. Turning bland spaces into gorgeous places.
So if next week you see me dragging my ass?limping, wounded, or waiting for a massage?you’ll know the final August move is complete. August 2008, that is. Though I am pretty excited about the paint and fabric swatches in my purse. Maybe movin? on ain’t so bad after all, from where I sit.
