Last Moments in my Home State Before I Drive to a New Home I don’t hate driving necessarily – it can be fun to zip down the California Coast or coast through the windy roads of the East Bay Hills on a warm day. But, I mostly hate driving – it hurts my back and hamstrings after about 20 minutes, I have to constantly concentrate, sleeping is a no-no, and then there’s parking. Driving would be ok if it weren’t for having to park later. So why someone like me thought driving over 2,400 miles by myself with a child was a sane undertaking, I have no idea. But here we are. Thankfully, in my insanity, I had the wherewithal to plot in a few stops along way – see some sites, stretch the achy bod, and breathe some fresh air. And thankfully, again, California offers many spots of interest that help to provide us with a lingering farewell. Since the Quid could toddle, I’ve wanted to take him to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Maybe my want has been more of an obsession – tomato, tomahtoe. The Quid, though, is totally on board with this obsession, so away we go – after triple checking day of mover pick-up, last night in Alameda, cementing day of departure, to be able to book tickets in advance for the day and time of arrival, because you know, COVID. And, of course we’re late. By over an hour. Because, you know, California traffic! The aquarium will still let us in, but it reduces our visit time, a particular bummer since it closes much earlier than expected. But we’re on a mission. We will experience this aquarium! We crawl into Monterey. We peel into a parking space. We dash down to the water – hi, Cannery Row; bye, Cannery Row. We bob and weave through tourists and sightseers who appear to have all the time in the universe – out of our way! Please. We finally enter the aquatic halls of the revered Monterey Bay and I thought, “This is it?” Really? I’m sure it will be wonderful, but it’s much smaller than I expected. Yet we’re on time crunch, so I hope we can squeeze it all in. “Hey, Quid – Wait, where’re you going?” as he, of course, dashes off to see the otters. They’re cute, seemingly cuddly, and his school mascot. We’re “sea people” – descended from cultures near, surrounded by, and commanding of the waters, so I always feel more grounded (punny?) near water. The cool blues, the calm sounds – it’s most tranquil. Ooommm. Let the waters wash over us. Ooommm. “Hey!! look over here. Let’s pet a stingray!” Then it could be put off no longer; it was time to go. Looking out over the Monterey Bay was beautiful and homesick inducing. Another planned stop was the Grand Canyon, so I’d targeted Barstow as a stop for the night to then head into Arizona the next day. A head’s up from a friend in Arizona about monsoons hitting the state including the Canyon scrapped that idea. But, hey, it’ll still be there when the Quid is in 4th grade and all national parks are free! Our bed in Barstow, though, still awaits.
“Drive, Mama. Barstow, Barstow, Barstow!” Barstow’s not exactly a travel destination. But it is a stop on the famed Mother Road, Route 66, a place to briefly take in for the automotive mystique it once held. And surely, the spirit of some patron saint of road trips will grant our chariot protection for our drive. But first, I pull over in a car dealer’s lot – seems fitting. I step out of the car to take in a last deep, dry breath and cast my last looks of California – golden… diverse in landscape and population… dry… on fire… expensive… Muah, kiss, kiss, we love you. Now, let’s go get our kicks! The Insanity of Driving Solo Cross-Country with a Young Child Moving sucks. There’s no sugar coating it – across town, the country, the globe, even the smallest, easiest move, well, isn’t. I’ve done more than my share of moves over the decades, but this one feels particularly difficult. Why? Probably because of the added complications of moving with a young child and all the extra hoops to jump through and paperwork that comes with it. And in this case, the speed with which the move has to be executed. At the destination, we’re trying to hit a very early school start date. At the departure point, we’ve been held up by a five-to-six-week delay in getting the go ahead to go. In short, it’s been go, go, go.
Despite my plethora of to-do, in-progress, and done lists, this move remains overwhelming. I’m on top of things, yet so behind. The night before the movers arrive, I only get two hours of sleep, because I’m up making sure everything was ready. I don’t recommend being near me in such instances. But for now, this can’t be helped. Miraculously, on moving day, I manage to get the kid to camp, navigate the stuff pick-up with the movers, do a mad dash to Hayward to drop-off very important papers before an agency closes, and with ten minutes to spare. Needless to say, by the time camp pick up time arrives, I am an incoherent mess, barely awake and, surely, not making sense. In this state, while on the phone with my friend solidifying plans for our pre-departure sleepover, my frazzled brain can’t decide whether to say my kid’s name, or the word ‘kid’ and what comes out is ‘Quid.’ “We’ll be over after I pick up Quid.” No sooner do I disconnected the call, ‘Quid’ bounds into the back seat and assumes his booster seat throne. I tell him his new “name”, he laughs, and says, “’Quid’, I like it – and long drives at night. Let’s go, Mama!” But first, a last night with a friend. This isn’t the first time my friends and I have parted and hopefully, we’ll reconnect again, as we have managed to do over the years. We dine, our kids play, I blubber on her back porch while drinking wine… There’s been a lot of that with this move – the blubbering, not the wine, because things can still be positive even if sad and hard. And as children of the island in the San Francisco Bay, we ponder yet again, that while we’ve made good friends as we’ve navigated our lives, will those who didn’t grow up on the island truly ever ‘get us’? I hope so! Morning comes and we must say, “So long for now.” With a final hug, one of my longest and dearest friends says, “At least you’re not going alone. You have ‘ the Quid’.” Yes, he can’t drive, he’s obsessed with but can’t read maps, but he’s much, much better than me with a long drive. And Alameda to Decatur is a really, really, really, really, really long drive. Quid is, and according to him, will forever be, my co-pilot. And with Quid as my co-pilot, what could possibly go wrong? Preparing to Set Out on a New Life in a New World Like an apparition sneaking up on me - “Boo!” - so did the sudden opportunity to move – move far, far away to a distant and foreign land – the American South. Bless my heart. Before I could process what was happening – still haven’t processed – I was throwing together a cross-country move to somewhere I’ve only ever changed planes in. Um, sure, what the hell? This is a totally solid plan.
Before diving into the latest new adventure, though, I wanted to make sure the kid experienced as much of California as he could – really wanted to drill the California into him. Mystery Spot – check; California Academy of Sciences – check; Lawrence Hall of Science, Berkeley Botanical Gardens, Fenton’s – check, check, check. California is vast and the continued options are plentiful, but I didn’t think we could sneak out of the state until we dashed down to San José to FINALLY experience Sarah Winchester’s Mystery House. Rooms going nowhere, the supernatural, California must-see - let’s do it… with a friend with whom I’d talked about this exact adventure three years ago… but we can only go on a certain day… at a specific time… because that’s all I can make happen before the movers arrive. I think I’m already out of breath before even touring the grounds… Most of us have heard of Sarah Winchester’s interest or obsession with the occult, but it seems her cross-country relocation may have been a move of mourning[1], a means to help comfort her loss. I can relate in my state of mourning my soon-to-be former California life. Legend says Sarah was haunted by the ghosts of those who died at the end of Winchester rifle. I’m haunted by the dread, fear, the monumental homesickness for the California Coast – its beauty and bounty. Also, there’s a good dose of a fear of failure lurking in the dark spaces; especially daunting when responsible for another young life. Sure, I’ve wanted to leave for ten years – I never intended to stay after arriving home from Germany. I like California and the island, but I also like having work, having work in my field(s), and actually being able to pay bills if I work. Yet, I’m still a mess at the thought of it all. Totally normal, right? Sarah Winchester moved cross-country to start a new. I’m moving yet again cross-country to make a fresh start, too. The Mystery House tour guide said Sarah was known to be a good employer, earning the loyalty of her employees. While I can’t say that I expect the loyalty of my friends and acquaintances made thus far, I do hope you won’t fade away, will join us on the journey, and even wish us well. Yep, y'all, we're moving to Georgia, Atlanta - Decatur that is. [1]https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/real-story-of-sarah-winchester-mystery-house-12552842.php#:~:text=Although legend would have you,Coast to be with family |
AuthorGreat transitioner & media operative seeking a position as a script coordinator, writers' room assistant, or staff writer with a TV drama. I'm also open to related jobs with networks and production companies. Landing an agent would be awesome. Archives
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