Driving through AP

As I have spoken about before, I have an impending move on my plate. I will be going with my family to Raleigh, NC, to begin a new adventure. This is not the first time, though I hope it will be my last, that I have taken a leap of faith (in whatever I needed to at the time) and jumped head first into an unknown body of water (or lack thereof). At age 18, I had broken up with my high school sweetheart, both of my grandparents had died, and my parents got divorced, and the only logical thing there seemed left to be, was to move to Arizona. My mother rented a Grand Prix, and she and my sister and I hung my Class of 95 tassle on the rearview and drove...and drove...and drove...I stayed in Arizona for more than 4 years- with the first year and the last being incredibly difficult ones, and let's be honest, so were the middle two. Jake and I stuck Rhiannon in a moving van ( a 14 footer, I believe) and drove suddenly to Tampa, Fl, without jobs, without a home, without a plan. With the exception of the beautiful Atlantic and palm trees lining the streets, we found Florida to be unacceptable. We were young, and impetuous, and this time (after 11 months) it took us the 17 footer to move on up to Virginia Beach. Here, we found jobs, a nice townhouse, had family and loved the area. But four short days after my miscarriage, the restaurant I was managing closed its doors so abruptly that I literally was told I did not have a job an hour before my shift. Meanwhile, Jake had been offered a job working with Homeland Security in New York, and the money was too good to refuse. So, pregnant with Morgan, we rented the 24 foot moving truck and headed up to Stony Point, NY ( a mere stone's throw from Jersey, and a nearly 2.5 hour commute to the city via ferry, train and subways) In the year and a half I lived there, I made one friend, realized I would never be able to afford a house, and saw less of Jake than if we had been separated. He hated his job working for the government, and I found him a job in Albany, my hometown. So, we packed up a 26 foot moving truck and filled our Camry to the rafters and headed north. Once we moved here, I found it blissful to have family members (namely my dad) show up randomly to rake my yard, or play with my kids. I suddenly had my best friends half an hour away, and delighted in knowing most of the roads, the malls, the supermarkets, places to avoid... But as we have proven time and again, jake and I get undeniable cases of wanderlust. He insists he has gypsy blood, I believe we were always taking baby steps for our future, but the honest truth is that we are both most comfortable in static, in chaos, in upheaval. In the 11 years we have been together, we have: had 13 jobs between the two of us, lived in 4 states, bought two houses, bought 5 cars, had a wedding, and last but not least- had 5 children. When our lives go through a small lull, we are lost and bored, so we find ourselves moving to the next best thing. In this case, we stumbled upon Raleigh in our fantasy home searches, and like a boulder tumbling down a hillside, it gathered momentum until both of us were scrambling to catch it (or to avoid getting run over, perhaps) Jake was offered a job from one of the first companies to which he applied, and we were suddenly moving. Definitely.
I have had mixed emotions in all of this, much to his dismay, which I think is entirely normal. I have enjoyed my time at our school, which I do not exaggerate when I say is the most amazing elementary school I have ever encountered. I find completion and satisfaction in the work I do for the PTA, which has become almost a full time job at times. My children are happy, and popular, my home is beautiful, and almost every person I love lives here. Deciding to leave has been difficult, but I know that we will eventually find much to cherish there, as well, for as long as we have each other, it will be all right.
Tonight, I was driving away from my mother's house, down past the Crooked Lake House, past where Gifford's burned down and the Belkes used to live, past Miller Hill Elementary school, and Sand Lake (where I was tortured by Mrs. Koenig), through town, where the locals were eating ice cream at Jiff E Mart, the Averill Park Market was yet another entity, the High School, where I spend 720 days of my life (and enjoyed far more than most do their education), and Millers (now Hannaford), where I watched the clock for each of my 3 hour shifts, hoping the Coupon Lady wouldn't grace my line, or that the man with the one arm whose trailer was filled with girls' panties wouldn't speak to me. I saw that the Mobil was no more- once a beacon for underage drinkers, and the meetup locale for summer parties...gone.
As I drove through, I wondered who was having their graduation parties now. And really, where would they have them if the Harte family no longer opened up their cabin? And if they were celebrating the way we did after senior year, were they still skinny dipping in the lakes, and getting late night food at Kay's or Doby's? Did they know all 216 other graduates the way we did, did Dr. Monahan still ask them not to fondle his cords? Did they all have a designated driver who was happy to open up her red subaru station wagon to the loud obnoxious drunk kids, just to know they were safe? Did they steal kisses near the bonfire and have tantrums with their friends when just the wrong thing was said at just the right time? Did they already plan for their camping trip to Lake George for next year?
As I thought of all this, with the crickets and summer lightning preparing themselves outside my window, my children were dancing in the back of my cliched minivan to music that is atrociously poorly written (nothing like Killing Me Softly by the Fugees) and I felt a little ancient. The saying is true- you can never really go home again. But if I can hold on to one thing...one hope, it would be that when I make the long 11 hour trek from North Carolina up to AP to stay with my mom, and I pass through a town that is ever changing and peeling away, I will be able to forget that saying for just a moment. And I will breathe in the past, with all of its turmoil and simplicity and beauty, and know that home can truly be wherever you lay your heart.