Monday, December 20, 2010

Moving On

The first and only other time I've ever moved was when I was in 1993, when my family sold most of our belongings, packed up the essentials (family heirlooms, clothes, my baby sister and I) and drove from Toronto to Vancouver in my dad's old GM van.


A picture of my in the Rockies, 1993

I can't remember any of this, but I've seen pictures and been told some pretty humorous stories. As we drove through Ontario, it was summer, and the mosquito's were thick. We all suffered from bite after bite after bite... except for Rachel. She was only a year old, and she was so fair that you could see her little blue veins right through her skin, like she was translucent. But she didn't get even one bite. My parents joked that she was so white, the mosquito's didn't think she had any blood.

There's a picture of me floating around, of me sitting next to Rachel in the van, all buckled in with boxes and furniture and bags bulging behind us. She's smiling widely, but I'm just hunched over and worried looking, my little forehead furrowed. Rachel was only a baby, so she was even less aware than I was of what was going on. But I think it must have really scared me, because for years and years after, I would have nightmares where we were moving. Not even like, we were moving and there were monsters or bad guys or something typically frightening. We were packing up and moving from my house, and it was just a horrible, horrible dream.

I moved from my mother's house to my father's house, but I'm not counting that as a true moving experience, because they were both places that I considered a house and home of mine. Now, I am actually moving into a brand new place, and it's not the nightmare I always had when I was a kid. I could quite possibly be living in that house by tomorrow evening. Maybe this will be the last night in my old room. I am excited beyond words.

And sad, too. Since I've never moved (or can never remember it), I've never had to leave anything behind. I actually quite like my soon-to-be old room, now that I've seen it empty. It was okay before, but it felt so much smaller with all of my things in it, so much narrower. It's got a funny shape to it, and a curved wall that I loved the first time I saw it. My new room is going to be totally amazing, , but I've grown attached to this one. Honestly, I wish it had been this empty the whole time. I forgot that it's actually decent-sized.

What I'm most excited about with this new place is the potential that it has. I'm going to finally be able to do whatever I want with my own space, and then fun part is that I will never be finished. As long as I live there, I will continue to build upon and improve it. I will collect furniture and paint walls. Already, I want to create a giant frame on one wall, and just fill it with large pieces of white paper, and draw on it, and have anyone who comes over draw something. Hey, maybe I'll just paint one whole wall white, and then make a giant plywood frame around it, to make it look like a framed picture. Wow, I totally like this idea. I would have it in my living room, for sure. I wonder if dad will go along with it. Well, I don't see why not. He's always encouraged me to draw, which makes me feel pretty good inside. My dad is not a man of many words, so when he says "Lisa, you should go into art. You've got the touch, you do", it really means something.

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