Rooms, Chambers, Digs, Pad, Flat

It is three weeks ago today that I moved into my new place of residence...my OWN personal, private, with just me the one and only, apartment. I have a sudden urge to start reeling from the depths of my Soul like the great Rev. King, I HAD a dream that one day I would have a home of my veeeeerrrry own… I can stop there.

On Facebook, I have jubilated over this new rite of passage. I have also done a certain amount of complaining. I have shared with 260 people across the globe that I found FUR in my freezer followed by some pseudo swearwords. Yesterday, I forced myself to find the reasons to be thankful for the facilities that I do have, despite the lack of water pressure (and I am not just being fussy here. I have a witness. It's like a heavy drizzle). Today, I made reference to the disgusting washing machine in the pit of Hades, otherwise known as the basement. This slice of paradise is...well...not paradise, but is it not customary that a person's "first place" is riddled with flaws? That's what gives it character and an endless supply of great anecdotes for years to come. And in the meantime, it greatly enhances our parents’ prayer life!

What else can I say? I am slowly getting used to this new space. If anyone knows me fairly well, they know that I move A LOT. According to the latest tally, this is home #18; 6 moves in the last 6 years. I wish they would have a retreat for "former" TWR MKs because I would have so many questions for them. Mainly, I want to know if they have found a way to settle once back in their homeland. This is something that I have yet to master. I confess that I am still not completely unpacked. It's basically done, but there are a few boxes and a few garbage bags left. I haven't been able to bring myself to finish the job because it's not home yet. Let me explain what I mean by "home." I live by the saying of "home is where I lay my head." For me, this is a literal truth and it has been that way since my parents joined the missions back in approx. 1990. I have only had a transient experience of home. I am looking for roots and stability. I want to make marks that I can leave and enjoy for many years. I would like to feel what it's like to grow with a place again. I want a place where I can watch the seasons roll by year after year. I want to know the house, the rooms, each crook and cranny like the back of my hand. It would be great if I could make it two years, three years would be a record as I have not lived anywhere for three straight years since the last millennium!

Based on the last paragraph, I am committing to make The Old Hux my home. It has advantages, clear disadvantages and a quirky charm that ironically fits in with the story of my life! As Kim, Janine and I huffed up and down the stairs with the boxes (me doing the most huffing and puffing, of course) I couldn't bear the thought of having to repeat this move within another year. In fact, if the heavens had opened and a prophetic voice had told me that I would be moving after a mere year, I would have laid down in the dirt and openly wept right then and there. The day of the move, I learned two important things. 1) Never move into a multiplex structure unequipped with an elevator ever again. 2) Sushi is an awesome way to satisfy and a hard-earned hunger. After dinner, it was just myself in a room full of boxes. Being the sentimental nerd that I am, I decided to put on the pilot episode of Mary Tyler Moore. What could be more fitting than watching the courageous Mary Richards driving down the highway to Minneapolis with Paul Williams singing, "How will you make it on your own? This world is awfully big, girl this time you're all alone. But it's time you started living. It's time you let someone else do some giving." By the third episode, they had me convinced that I'm "gonna make it after all."