Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Unjournal journaling: Packing up to move

Un-journal prompt #7
Continuing with the series of Un-journaling prompts, here's my response to the simple prompt: 

How many times have you moved in your life?

Moving is not something I like to do. So when I do it, it’s going to be for the long haul. Sometimes I wish I’d grown up military or married a military man. The constant moves that are required of military members means you have to keep the possessions to a manageable level.

As a child we lived in Cleveland and Akron, Ohio; and in a town outside Pittsburgh. As an adult, I’ve moved eight times. Goodness! I didn’t realize it was even that much.

To college: I’m from Pennsylvania and did undergrad in Hampton, Virginia.

Home: After graduation I moved back home and commuted into Pittsburgh where I worked as a newspaper reporter.

To grad school: I left the newspaper to go to grad school at Ohio State in Columbus, Ohio. I moved into a third-floor walk-up apartment. I’d learned during my sophomore year in college that I did not like people on top of me. From heavy walking to music and the like, I knew that if I were ever in an apartment again (or a dormitory), I’d need to live on the top floor. So I found a studio I could afford on a grad student’s non-existent income and called it home until after graduation when I got a job back in Virginia.

Back to Virginia: My first move was to a hotel for a week. My employer put me up until I found an apartment.

Magnolia House: That place ended up being a lovely old Victorian – with magnolia trees in the yard -- that had been converted into five apartments. Unfortunately, heating the place was killing me, so I began looking for another place to live. By the way, today, Magnolia House is a lovely bed-and-breakfast inn.

Phoebus area of Hampton: I moved in with friends and we had the perfect living arrangements. We shared a townhouse and all three of us were on completely different work schedules. The arrangement lasted for two years.

Cottage Life: Next stop after Libbey Street was a lovely little cottage. Little being the operative word. If the oven door was open, you couldn’t open the refrigerator. The “table” in the living room/dining room combo came out of the wall – similar to a Murphy bed. When I bought bedroom furniture, I only got the headboard and a night table. A chest of drawers didn’t fit in the room! But there were no adjoining walls with the neighbors and I kept pots of geraniums on the steps. I stayed there until I bought a house.

Current: The place I call home now has been home since 1990. When I moved in, I danced around in all of the glorious space that was mine, mine, mine. My entire cottage would have fit in the living room and dining room of the house – with room to spare! Now, of course, it’s filled to capacity and I shudder at the thought of having to pack up and move somewhere.

No comments:

Post a Comment