Make God Laugh....Tell Him Your Plans...

This picture was taken almost 18 years ago when we made a move to our location now. And it was one of the happiest days of my life. It was on November 4, 1989 and fortunately for us the weather cooperated. This is our whole family posing by the real estate sign that said sold. We were first time homeowners and extremely excited about it too. I have this photo framed at my desk as a reminder of happier times in my life. I was sailing on cloud nine that day, sore from moving, by high none the less.

It was a major move for us. In fact it was life altering for everyone in the family. It meant leaving our hometown and all our family, including our friends, great neighbors, great doctors who were family friends and a good job. To taking a plunge from the big city to a small town and a new business and try to make it work. It meant uprooting our three kids from 7-11 years old from their schools, grandparents and cousins. It was a pretty emotional time but one I was really looking forward to. For me it was a much needed adventure in my life. And even though through the years we talked many times of selling everything and going back home we never did, we stuck it out and sometimes not for the better. Maybe we should have thrown the towel in years ago. And somewhere along the way Kansas City stopped being home and Chillicothe took its place. I'm not sure when that happened. Along the way most of the extended family members died and our hometown of Parkville changed dramatically. Even after the kids grew up and moved away we still talked about moving back but this time it was a lot less serious. Usually it was a passing comment during frustrated moments. Nothing really serious. But life has a way of pulling the rug out from under your best laid plans. Sometimes I think God just likes to fuck with me for a good laugh. I must be one of his preferred individuals for entertainment purposes. He and I are really going to have to sit down and have a nice long discussion when I go back home. What's that saying, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans'? Yep, that's the one.

We told him our plans, more than once I might add and he laughed so hard he created great thunderstorms in our life.

Dwight's mom died back in 2005 after being in a nursing home with Alzheimer's for four years. His dad is 86 years old and over the years since her death he's been on a steady decline. Each time we'd see him he'd make it a point to tell us he had been to the doctor and he was healthy and there wasn't a thing wrong with him. He look like he'd died, kept losing weight and couldn't walk very well but his mind was still pretty good. "I'm the picture of health!" he'd remind us. I kept thinking, "Jeez what doctor believes that?" In retrospect we see that he was afraid, if we knew, we'd stick him in a nursing home. And the irony of the situation is that now he really is in one. If we'd of known exactly how bad he was, steps might have been taken to get him help to stay in his own home longer. But that's not going to happen.

Back in late January he fell down the steps at his home and laid there for more than a day before we found him. I wrote about it in depth here as my very first post call Nursing Home Blues. So the saga of the nursing home still goes on. My husband and I usually take turns going down to the city to see him. The last time was Dwight's turn. And when he came home after two days he had made some major decisions. Some of those life changing decisions like we had made in 1989. I didn't even see this one coming and I'm usually the one that smells them coming or at least I get an inkling. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I was blindsided.

We had talked on several occasions about what to do with Harold's home in Liberty but it was just between us as husband and wife. A few weeks after he'd gone into the hospital the neighbors would come over wanting to know if we would be selling the house That was when Harold was so bad we didn't think he'd make it out of the hospital alive. But he's been progressing each day and getting stronger. Not strong enough he will ever be able to live in that house again, but he is progressing just the same. Still we've discussed what to do with his house. Dwight came home and I was a bit surprised at what he had pretty much decided would need to be done while he was there alone surveying the situation. In other words he spent time wondering and then spent time in each room and area of the house. Determining what needs to go and what needs to stay and the minor repairs to be able to bring market value to that house.

The original plan was he would go back and work in the city. He'd been thinking of getting out of his line of work to some extent and possibly going back to his original job as they told him they would be having some openings when cooling season picked up along about May. His plan was to live in his dad's house through the week and I'd stay here, this way we'd keep both homes. At least as long as Harold was still alive.

Apparently after his last trip and talking with his dad he has suggested that the house may have to be sold. The POTENTIAL plan is to liquidate both homes. Ours and his dad's. Plus consolidating the two houses contents as much as possible. This means deciding what to keep from both homes and possibly buying another one. If he can get work at his old job his plan is to move as close to KC as possible. You cannot begin to fathom what a HUGE job this will be. And nothing in our life ever runs smoothly. It usually just crawls along until a change comes and then it picks up speed like a locomotion. That's what happened in 1989. All of a sudden it was a done deal and time to move.

I tried to prepare but I still wasn't ready for us to begin moving when the day came to move things. As I was in the basement preparing my birds to be moved my entire living room and dining room furniture disappeared. I walked upstairs to my bedroom and the only thing left was a chest and it left as I was standing there. For some reason this unnerved me. I felt as if I had lost all control. What control I felt I needed over that situation I don't know. I called my sister crying saying, "It's all flying out of the house! If you want to see us before we leave you better hurry down!" I felt like I'd never see all of my things again that somehow it would get lost between there and here. No matter how much you prepare and how organized you try to be you still have no clue where your crap is for months.

So the possibility is very real that all of a sudden I'll be leaving Chillicothe. Maybe not for many months but no matter when it happens, or if it happens, I won't be prepared. And I'll need to figure out what must go and how to get rid of it. I know I'm too old for a move that takes one or two days. AND I'm too unorganized. Not only do I need to decide what in my house needs to go I have to decide what must go in the other house. Then how to get rid of stuff, give away, garage sale or auction? That means repairs on the homes and then real estate agents. I hate listing my house with a realtor. Of course people come in to look and since I'm a really private person I always feel violated after they're gone. We've even talked about auctioning it off and being done with it just to avoid involving a realtor.

Actually I never expected to go back to the city. And maybe it won't work out that we do, but it is certainly looking like it right now. And it won't be quick, it will be a long drawn out affair. There is one thing about moving, it forces you to get rid of some of your crap. And we're pack rats. Plus his parents were also pack rats AND collectors. They collected things they erroneously thought would be worth money in the future. Not true. Plus they inherited another couples home and contents nearly 20 years ago which they integrated a lot of the contents of that house into their own. You can really have too much stuff. Then it becomes shit. Makes me think of George Carlin's act about your stuff and other peoples shit.

I'm probably making a mistake writing about this stuff too soon. But it's so overwhelming that writing about it is kind of like purging a bit. This way I have more mental room to ponder about it.