Period of Adjustment

Most everyone's first question to me lately has been "how are things going?" or "how are you settling in?"  Most with a bit of trepidation, as in "are you freaking out a little?"  As if, instead of moving 800 miles, to a place I lived for 17 years, I have suddenly landed on a foreign planet.

The simple answer is, I'm doing great, actually. 

The complex answer is, well, a bit more complex.

The Quiet Isolation
When I first got back, and especially once I actually moved into my house, I was experiencing something akin to agoraphobia.  Which I, obviously, couldn't talk about until I got through it.  The first few days that I was here, the sheer amount of space that was all my own was overwhelming.  And to make matters even more pressing is the quiet.

Never in my life have I had so much space all to my own.  Growing up, I lived on a farm, but my parents and/or my brother were nearly always around.  And even if I were at home alone, it was never for long.  And from there, it was college where I was sharing a space smaller than my bedroom growing up with another person.  Living with and on top of a couple of hundred other people.  And living on a college campus, it was always loud.  Then, it was on to my first apartment.  Which, even though it was my own space, nearly 850 square feet of it, there were still people around, neighbors, cars driving by.  And from there, I just kept moving to having more and more people around me.  When I first moved to DC, I had 3 roommates, in a row house, and two dogs.  And even down to my last apartment, my closest neighbor was 3 feet away. 

Now, my closest neighbor is over a quarter mile away.  And I'm surrounded by fields on every side.  Even as I was adjusting, my mind told me that I was completely safe, and that there was nothing wrong with being the only person within a quarter mile radius.  But, because it was a bit irrational (and I knew it at the time, but it's irrational, so I can't exactly talk myself out of it) I felt as though I were safer living with hundreds of other people on top of me. 

Put it another way, I was more afraid of the boogeyman living in my basement than I was of the hundreds of other people living around me who potentially (if never in actuality) could have caused me harm.

But it's ok now, because I've gotten through that part of adjustment.  And it no longer weirds me out that it's just me.  And it's a completely normal thing to be laying in bed, and can hear a train whistle blow in the middle of the night.  Knowing that the train tracks are over 2 and a half miles away.  And I can here it as if it were in my back yard.  And it's completely normal to go on a 12 mile bike ride, and never be out of sight of my house.  It's all just...normal now.

The Color of Your Thumb
As I have said in previous posts, I was never much one for gardening, or working outside.  My only successful efforts in raising a plant was not killing my houseplant, Fergi, who, I am now quite certain, is impossible to kill.  Trust me, there have been many attempts made at his life.  But he's still kickin'.

And forget about mowing the lawn.

So, believe me when I say, I do not think my thumb was green.  At all.  Not that I had a black thumb.  I always imagined that it was more...purple.  You know, because I'm a bit accident prone.  And am more likely to have hit it with a hammer (or run into a wall, or smash it in a drawer, or door), than successfully grow something.  

But since I have been back, I have spent more time working outside, on my yard, building a flower bed, and other assorted  fun stuff.  Literally, I built a flower bed.  Ok, not completely from scratch.  There had been a bed there before, but I completely re-built it.  And made it look, you know, nice.  And planted stuff in it.  And decorated it with an old garden fork that I found in the shed. 

And now, I apparently can't stop.  Once I was finished with that project, I immediately started working on my next project (which will get started this morning).  I went to Menards yesterday, and bought some new pots to put around outside.  And, well, I went a little crazy buying some flowers.  I just couldn't help myself.  They're all so cute, and colorful.  And they were on sale.  I kinda had to. 

I came back home after my shopping spree, and told my dad that I think I need a little color in my life.  After living in a boring, colorless apartment, with hardly any adornments, such as flowers, I think I need a little bit of that.  Not only for the time that I spend doing it (let's face it, I have some free time now).  But also, caring for the outside of the house has made me feel like this is actually my place.  It's helped me settle in. 

But beyond that, seeing the results of all my efforts has given me something I didn't know I needed:  


Tangible Results. 
Every morning, I open my windows, and I see what I have done.  I see the results of all of my hard efforts. 

Before I moved home, I felt as though I were floundering.  I had no idea what my purpose in life was to be.  But I knew that sitting in a cube for 8 hours a day, mostly being bored out of my mind, wasn't it.  Yes, I helped people, and I made money.  But the job, and my life in DC was rarely satisfying. 

Since moving back to IL, I have worked harder than I have in many years.  And in the last month, I have probably spent more time with my parents than I have in the 3 and a half years preceding my move.

Last Sunday, after church, someone asked how my new job was going.  And I said that it was going good, and my dad added that I had only worked one day since being home.  I immediately corrected him, by saying, I've worked pretty much every day since moving back.  I've only made money on one of those days.

But I'm ok with that.  Because I look around me, and I see the results of my efforts.  And I feel lucky that I can now see that.  The boring workday isn't something that is a rare occurrence, especially in today's society.  Everyone needs to make money to survive.  But how many of us truly feel a sense of satisfaction with their days work?  Like I said, I feel lucky. 

The Wave
When I first got back, there were definitely moments when I felt as though I were in a completely foreign land.  But at the same time, there were a few things that just automatically came back to me.  As though I had never left.  The big one I can point out is the wave.  Now, this is a country life thing.  People living in, and driving in the country wave at one another when you pass someone on the road.  It's a friendly gesture.  Something that definitely wouldn't happen in big cities.  In fact, if you tried, you'd be more likely to get a middle finger salute in return as opposed to a wave. 

Now, with so many "city folk" living out in the country now, not everyone partakes of the wave.  Just like not everyone realizes that on some of these narrow country roads, it's common courtesy to move over when you meet another car.  But there are still many people that do wave in return. 

Growing up, the wave pretty much consisted of raising one or two fingers from the steering wheel as you meet another car.  Which is still around, and the current method that I use.  But I have also noticed that there is a new wave phenomenon going on.  In which some people (mostly women) use more of a windshield wiper wave, as opposed to the raised finger(s).  It was a little weird in the beginning.  But I'm getting used to it.  And now see it as an acceptable form of greeting. 

Any Regrets?
By now, you may be wondering (though I hope not) if I regret the decision that I've made.  And, I absolutely do not.  There are a few moments, often when something in my house breaks, and I have to get my dad to fix it, that I casually wonder what I have gotten myself into.  But then, he fixes said problem.  And I go back to being ecstatic that I'm here.  And beyond anything else, I feel more certain than ever that this was definitely the right decision. 

Whirlwind

Greetings from my newly inhabited office, located in my spacious basement.  I've just started setting things up in here the past couple of days, and already, I'm feeling more productive.  I even have a guest chair, should someone want to visit my office.  It's a cooler.  But it's functional, so that's really all that matters.  Maybe one day, I'll get something that actually resembles, you know, a chair.  But things are really shaping up.  Most importantly, we took down the saloon doors that used to be in the doorway.  It's now blank, and I like it a lot better.

So anyway, what a whirlwind of a couple of weeks it has been!  I am *still* getting settled into my house.  This is taking a lot longer than I had imagined.  And there are *still* boxes to go through.  But I'm being thorough, and a huge pile has been created of stuff to give away.  Clothes, games, old stuffed animals from my kid-dom.  I'm cleaning house.  But I'm getting closer.  I think.

If you follow my antics on Facebook, you'll have seen the picture of Cedric's room, which is finally, pretty much set up.  So really, only one more bedroom to go.  And currently, it has all of my books in it.  And I have no bookshelves.  So, at the moment, they remain in their boxes.  Hopefully, this situation shall be remedied soon.  But in all of the moving I have done, I have realized the challenge with having a hobby, such as reading.  You have to move all of your books.  And I know, I know...everyone and their mama has told me I need to get a Kindle.  Well...not gonna happen.  Not gonna do it.  Nuh uh, no way, no sir. 

There have definitely been more joys of house dwelling.  Yesterday, my brand new washer and dryer and dishwasher were delivered.  The first two, because I didn't have one before, and my parents and I quickly realized that doing all of my laundry over there just was not going to be feasible  for long.  And the last, well, because the old one broke.  But they're in, and they're awesome.  I'm 7 loads of laundry in, and it's amazing.  Again, I feel productive.  But not to say that there were no hitches along the way, because, let's face it, this is me we're talking about.  So, as the dad and I were taking out the old dishwasher, there was a wee, teeny flood in my kitchen.  That just happened to spread to one of my heating ducts.  Which happened to drip in my basement.  That basement floor needed to be cleaned anyway. 

Oh, and we should definitely talk about the outside of the house.  Holy moley!  It doesn't look the same outside.  It actually looks like someone, you know, lives here!  I've mowed the lawn twice.  Ok, let me pause for a moment.  Because, for the moment, one thing that my parents and I can share is the lawn mower.  And yipee, yeehaw.  That thing can boogie!  Low speed goes around 11mph.  Yes, a lawn mower.  Goes 11 MILES AN HOUR.  In low gear.  My dad had given me a few basics of the mower, and let me take off.  With a bit of a warning, and also said that he'd be around if I needed help.  God bless that man.  Not 60 seconds after he sent me on my way, I got stuck.  In the mud.  So, he pulled a tractor around, and pulled me out.  Gave me a stern look of "please don't do that again," and once again, sent me off.  With a few more instructions.  So anyway, I continue, mowing.  And my main concern was that I was going to NOT get the lawn mowed in straight lines.  See, my Paw-Paw was a stickler for straight lines.  One of his friends told a story of when he offered to help my Paw farm, and quickly, Paw made him get off the tractor because the lines weren't straight.  And I feared that if I messed up mowing, Paw would rise from the grave, and make me mow the lawn again.  I noticed not long into the mow that I was getting a little more comfortable.  And really let the mower fly through the yard.  I felt so much power coursing through my veins that a Tim Taylor-esque grunt was even warranted. 

The next day, I was talking to my mom.  And she said that my dad had made the comment that he thought I might be a little more tentative, and take things a little slow at first. 

Funny thing - I thought I did :)

And apparently I'm not allowed to learn how to switch it to high gear.  :(

But apparently my dad hasn't paid much attention over the past 30 years.  I am still the same person, who, at a young age (probably 4 or 5) jumped off the deep end of a pool, sans water wings.  And dad had to jump in after to save me.  Not much has changed about my sense of adventure since then.

But beyond just the lawn mowing, I've been doing a lot more stuff outside.  I rebuilt a flower bed.  And I've done a ton of weeding.  I've bought flowers, and those are waiting to get planted.  Oh, and I'm thinking up ideas for the Centennial Farm sign.  It needs a bit of work.  Especially since I stole the pavers that were around that to use for my flower bed. 

And then today, dad and I are planning to have a "discussion" with a couple of the hideous bushes that my Paw was apparently so fond of.  And by "discussion" I really mean, they're going bye-bye.  And I will, hopefully, once again have use of one of my sidewalks.  Because right now, it's not very functional. 

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I've been doing a lot of work outside.  But what has surprised me is how much I've enjoyed it.  I was never the primary lawn mower growing up.  That duty fell to my brother.  And except for one summer where my Grandma thought it was an awesome idea for me to mow the lawn here, mainly so she would have an excuse to give me money, I've never done it regularly.  In fact, when I was apartment dwelling, one of the main things I liked about not having a lawn of my own, was not having to mow a lawn of my own.  Oh, and by the way.  The summer I mowed the lawn here, I did it on a lawn tractor.  And it took me 3+ hours to do.  With the beast that my dad has, it only takes a little over an hour.  Yeah, it's awesome. 

So, beyond the work outside, the dad and I have been working on a few things inside too.  Well, installing the new dishwasher.  And changing a few outlets.  And talking about the horrible lighting in the house, and how we can fix the situation.  And I have to tell you, working with electricity really makes me nervous.  Even if I'm not the one doing it.  The dad is totally capable at working on electrical outlets.  Literally, he wired their entire house as they were building it.  But it still makes me nervous.  Like the wiring might be so poor, or just plain old, in this house, that even if the outlet is turned off, something might still happen.  And my big fear is that the dad is going to get zapped.  I mean, better him than me.  Kidding.  Kind of.  I mean, really, I would prefer if NO ONE got zapped.  But it still needs to be done.  Because whoever wired this house back in the day, well, I would like to flog them.  Because as my dad tried to turn off the power to the dishwasher, the same switch turned off the dishwasher (and nothing else in the kitchen) my printer (in my office, in the basement) and my entire laundry room.  And the breaker that turned off the outlet in the bathroom we replaced also turned off outlets in my bedroom, the living room, and the dining room.  It makes NO SENSE.  Whatsoever. 

Ok. Enough procrastination.  Unfortunately.  More later!

Gratitude

I will not blow smoke where smoke has no business being, and lie and say that home dwellership has been nothing but rosy.  I'll respect myself, and all of you enough to tell the truth.  I'm not saying that it's been awful.  But there have been a few...challenges. 

One of the biggest challenges so far has been actually believing that this is now my house.  I'm living in my Grandparent's house; a house that I practically grew up in.  I was here all the time.  And no matter how many changes I make to the house, no matter how long I live here, this will always be their house.  There are a multitude of little things that keep happening that make me revert back to my childhood.  I'll be cooking, and need to throw something away, and without thinking, I'll head toward the kitchen sink, because they always kept the trash can underneath the kitchen sink.  Never mind the fact that the one I put in the kitchen is on the opposite side of the room, and I've used it countless times in the past week.  Or reaching toward the wall where the TP holder always used to be, never mind the fact that you have to reach past the current TP stand to get to the wall.  Still happens.  All the time.

Without even considering that another drawer might be more suitable, I went ahead and put the silverware in the same drawer my Grandma kept hers.  I knew that no matter what, I'd always reach for that drawer to get the silverware out, so I might as well give myself a break and leave it there.  Best decision - ever.

And every morning, when I walk out of my bedroom, I glance into the living room.  And see the light on.  And every morning, I picture my Grandpa, sitting in his chair.  Reading.  As I saw him do countless times.  I miss them so much.  And can't believe that they have been gone for 10 years.  But I am so happy to be living here.

I'm going to take a side step, and tell you a little story.  About my house.  And calling this my house.  Like I said before, part of me will always see this as their house.  But it's starting to really feel like home.  But something happened before I even arrived in IL that made me feel at home here.  One of the absolutely amazing ladies who came to clean my house - who had known my Grandparents from way back when, had been to this house countless times - got a little choked up when she first walked in the day they cleaned.  But when she told me about this, she called this MY house.  That one, single, comment made me feel more at home than almost anything else.  

I'm pretty sure that in the past 2 weeks, I have worked harder - physically harder - than I have in years.  Day in, day out.  All day long.  And I say this having trained for an Ironman.  It has not been easy.  But the thing I come back to is I could not be more grateful to be here.  I am grateful that I have so much storage space to keep all of my things.  I am grateful that I can finally relieve my parents of the space my stuff was taking up in their garage.  I am grateful that I can go to bed every night, and be tired.  There hasn't been a night that I have had a hard time falling asleep. 

And beyond that - I haven't been alone through it all.  My parents have been amazing throughout the entire process.  And though my mother may feel some guilt that she's not able to help enough.  Trust me, my house would not look as good as it does without her.  She has gone completely above and beyond with helping clean.  And when it came to doing stuff that she can't physically do herself, she immediately went into drill sergeant mode, and directed my dad and I to clean up the patio, so it was much more orderly.  Quite frankly, I think all dad and I really wanted to do was take a shower, and watch some TV, but there was no way she was leaving my house until the patio was organized.  And you know what, I was grateful she made that happen.  Who knows how long I could have walked around the table that sits out there (that had been in the middle of the floor) without her.

And of course, things never work out the way things are supposed to.  I've been cleaning EVERYTHING I own since I've been here.  All dishes have been washed.  All clothes are being washed (in my mother's washer and dryer because I don't currently own one - I am grateful that I at least have her house, and laundry room close enough instead of needing to go to a laundromat).  And it's been a task in and of itself cleaning everything.  And there is still a long way to go.  But I was at least able to get the house clean enough (it helped that I gave myself a deadline I couldn't avoid) to have my family over for Easter.  Yes, I've lived here less than a week, and I've already hosted a holiday dinner.  And, of course, the dishwasher decides to stop working the day before.  So not only do I cook dinner for everyone.  I also get to do ALL of the dishes.  By hand. 

I could easily grumble and gripe about the challenges that that brought on.  Or needing to spend more time washing dishes yesterday than I had planned on, which eventually took more time away from the family.  Things could easily go that way.  But instead, through it all, the word that kept rolling through my head is gratitude.  At least I have a dishwasher that can be broken.  At least I have family close enough, and willing enough, to spend holiday's with me.  At least I'm used to washing dishes by hand, so it really wasn't that hard to take care of.  At least I have family that was willing to pitch in and help out with those dishes.  I am so grateful for all of these things.  Life is VERY good.

Pictures!

My House

This farm has been in my family for over 100 years.

Living Room - View 1 - My 32 inch TV looks much smaller in this living room than any other apartment it has lived in.  That must be what happens when you are allowed to sit over 6 feet away from the TV.

Living Room - View 2 - Even my old couch seems to have a breathe of new life.

Dining Room - My Grandma's Dining Room Table

I have eaten countless meals at this counter.

The start of the kitchen.  Already, there are more cabinets in this picture than in my last two apartments.  Combined.

More Kitchen - And the awesome, original, retro oven.  That was clearly made long before they started insulating the handles.

And yes more kitchen.  I have never in my life seen more cabinets in one kitchen.  And according to my parents, my Grandma had them all completely full.

The Main Bathroom - The blue will eventually be going away.

Bedroom - View 1

Bedroom - View 2 - 3 built in drawers, a dresser, and a chest of drawers.  And only half the drawers have clothes in them.  And even then, they aren't full.  Oh yeah, and one of my two closets.

Bedroom - View 3 - I have a lot of clothes, but even I can't fill this up.

The Beginning

Well, here I am.  In Middle America.  I've been here for a little over a week, and thought that, not having a full time, 40 hour a week job, I might have a little bit more time on my hands.  Not the case, at all.  I've been running around all day, every day since I got here.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I have done the cross country move a couple of times now.  And both times, I boarded a plane with a one way ticket in my hand.  Unfortunately, this time, my flight was delayed over 2 and a half hours.  But it gave me plenty of time to read my entire Martha Stuart catalog.  Hey, don't judge.  I needed the gardening tips.  (More on that later)  But once I was finally on the plane, it was rather uneventful.  The parents met me at the airport, and I waited a full 10 minutes after getting on the road before asking if we were there yet.  So I don't like road trips. 

Two and a half hours after that, we finally got to my parents house.  I walked outside, and looked up to see the stars, and took a deep breathe.  And then I started scratching my nose like a crack addict, because in IL or in DC, spring allergies are spring allergies.  The only difference is the air behind the allergies here is a lot cleaner. 

Since that night, it's been a little bit of a whirlwind.  Life has been full of cleaning, and unpacking.  We finally emptied out the storage unit that I filled up 3 and a half years ago before I moved to DC, and am now using that to partially fill up my house.  Oh, and I bought a car, and insurance, and all of that stuff that responsible adults do.  The car is adorable, a Nissan Versa named Betty. 

I imagined that I'd end up needing to spend an entire day cleaning my house.  It had sat empty for around 8 months, and needing a little sanitization.  And the day before I moved, my dad informed me that 3 of my moms friends were taking over that responsibility for me.  They knew that my mom couldn't do much of anything (she just had minor surgery, she's doing ok, just needs to behave herself, and not bend, etc).  So they spent an entire day scrubbing my house.  It was wonderful to walk into my house, and see it sparkle. 

When my trailer from DC finally arrived (I had expected it on Friday, but it was delayed until Monday) 7 people from my parents church came to help unload all 4 and a half feet (of a 28 foot trailer) of my belongings.  With all of us working, it took about an hour, and again, they cleaned my furniture, and started unpacking my kitchen.  I am so grateful. 

But after that, my house is really starting to look like someone lives here.  And, well, I finally do live here.  This is the second morning that I've woken up on my house.  And it's really starting to feel like home. 

Ok, so there are boxes pretty much everywhere.  And I have no idea where I'm going to put anything.  Here lies the problem in moving from a teeny, tiny apartment to a house.  A 3 bedroom house, with a full basement.  I have more storage than I know what to do with.  The kitchen, especially.  In DC, I had 2 drawers, and 3, small cabinets.  In my house, well, I haven't counted yet, but the count easily quadrupled.  Easily.  I'll eventually get around to taking pictures, after I get more stuff put away. 

So, like I said, this is my second morning here.  The first morning, I swore that my house is being haunted by my Grandma Stein.  Yes, the crazy grandma that roller skated down a hill, and jumped over a set of train tracks.  I bought a new toaster for my house, not having owned one before I moved.  And yesterday morning was the first time I had used it.  And I got burnt toast for breakfast.  My grandma loved burnt toast.  I can just imagine her sitting in the corner, giggling. 

Fortunately, I think I'm getting the toaster regulated.  And I'm kind of getting settled in.  I'm hoping that eventually, I'll settle in completely, and life can get back to...normal.  If that exists.  I'll take pictures, eventually, and will post. 

But for now, I'll leave you with...my barn.