Moving is so bittersweet. On the one hand, we look forward to change. We need change. We are excited about the prospect of leaving whatever problems we may have had here and facing new challenges, in the hopes that overall, things will turn out the way they are supposed to. Not necessarily a perfect life, but a different one that is just as good or better. A life with less grout to scrub and a place to put the food storage. A life with seasons and family.
On the other hand, all the really good things we have here are coming to an end. Yesterday a wave of emotion caught me as I was driving down Pine Island Rd. as the rain began to pound down on my car. A drive that I have made so many times, yet will no longer be making; and watching the rain that would never be like this in Utah. Our best friends came over the other day as they have so many times before--me talking to the mom like always, about anything and everything, and her three youngest playing with my three oldest, just like they have for years. This, in many ways, is what has lifted me up, kept me sane and gotten me through some of my darkest times. This same scenario, so comfortable and normal, is not going to happen anymore--at least not like this, in this house or even in this state. What will we do without them? And all the other friends we have here? The Fourth of July will not be spent at the Michaud's this year, or New Year's at the Mueller's, or Memorial Day at the park with everyone, or Christmas at the Frahm's, or Thanksgiving at the Penrod's, or camping with the Gay's. We won't have the Hales to love our kids almost as much as we do or the Mills' to play games with. And all the people that have lived here less time than us but who are amazing friends as well. My great visiting teacher, our faithful home teachers and all the moms who I've gotten to know at the park or at baby showers. The Catos, the Richards, the Potts, the Guffeys, the Bradys, the Renshaws, the Kellys, the Hafens and many more that I'm sure I'm forgetting. It's these people that have made our life so rich and enjoyable in Florida.
But this will all end. I will only mow our lawn one more time, after getting to know every bump, tree and sprinkler head. Only once more. We will only make our usual walk a couple more times. Around the block we know so well, and by neighbors that we have always known. And our cats... they, like everything else, will be gone. We've been through a lot together. They were my companions before I knew anyone else here and before I even had a job or kids. While they are just animals, they are our animals... and they will not come with us.
Yesterday, since our TV service has been disconnected, I pulled out some great footage to entertain my children. Not just anything, but my BYU marching band videos. This, like living in Florida, was a good time. A stroll down memory lane. That, I will not deny, was a lot of really geeky, poofy-haired, big glasses wearing, mid-90's band geeks--and I was one of them. I mentioned to the kids about how geeky band geeks were and then proceeded to explain what geeky meant. "But mom," they said, "you were in the band." Yeah, I know. I was a band geek. "Huh?" These kids were literally astonished to even imagine that I was that geeky. They're still so young, aren't they? Tragically, the 1996 video got eaten up by our formerly faithful VCR, which is even more tragic because that was in many ways my best year. I was in my prime that year. But 1994 was also pretty good too. It still amazes me that a whole band could play Festive Overture and Appalachian Springs while marching sideways, forward and backward. Now that's talent. From band camp tan lines, to sliding on the practice field in the snow, to BTR's and really ugly polyester uniforms. I would not trade my 6 years of marching band (three in high school and three in college) for anything. But those days came to an end too, and now all I've got to show for them is two remaining functioning VHS movies, and some really great memories.