Back to the Future

George, I've got a feeling we're not in Somerville anymore...

Hello, Internet, it's been a while. And more has changed in these many months than I can even begin to sum up in a blog, which is probably why I put it off for so long. I left my job of almost five years and my home of over eight; our friends, neighbors, and familiar territory; packed up our teeny city apartment and moved to the suburbs of Connecticut. I lived with my in-laws for nearly a month while our house was being worked on; learned to drive on twisty country roads (it beats sharing the road with Boston cab drivers, though); and found a new hairdresser,vet, and drugstore. My parents sold their house just a couple of days after we moved, and one of the many snowstorms we had this winter prevented us from driving down to say goodbye the place I've considered home for over 30 years. I am back in the ranks of the unemployed, searching for work and missing my old job more than I ever thought I would. Given that it's my first time job-seeking as a married lady, this seemingly makes me - as the woman filling out forms for me at Bank of America chose to call me - a homemaker. I know how to order oil for our heat and gas for the hot water heater, even though I never really knew there was a difference before. I joined a book club and met Martha Stewart. And I've started exercising.

This is not to make excuses for my long absence. Except, OK, it kind of is. This has been both the most exciting and most unsettling time in my life, and I didn't really know how to condense it down and make it funny for a blog posting. Sure, lots of funny things have happened - the construction process alone has been a comedy of errors (more on that later), and my conversation with our new medical insurance people was ultimately hilarious (once I stopped crying in frustration). But some days I am also stressed about finding work, missing my friends and life back in Boston (and Anna's Taqueria, of course), and irritated by the fact that everyone thinks this move to the suburbs means we're having a baby right away (it doesn't).

Of course there are great things about living here, too. The people we've met are incredibly friendly (I said hi to the woman sitting next to me at Starbucks yesterday, and unlike experiences I've had in Harvard Square, she didn't look at me like I was going to steal her wallet, laptop, and baby). We have what feels to us, after our 690 square foot apartment, to be a great amount of space. I'm closer to my parents, brother, and wonderful friends in NY that I haven't seen with this frequency in over a decade. I can take George on a long walk without stepping over broken bottles and homeless guys. And I love the quiet nights and stars.

The best part, of course, is that I got to take this huge step with the best teammate in the world, my husband. Who never tires of explaining to me the difference between gas and oil, giving me directions to the post office (1/2 a mile away), and switching the furniture around "just one more time". And who reminds me, on days I forget, that we came here so we could move forward instead of spinning our wheels at our jobs; afford a real home when we're ready for it; and most of all be closer to our families, because it doesn't get any more important than that.

See? Not super funny....next time, I promise.