On the Road

Though I was pleased to be done with the physically exhausting part of our move, I was dreading the traveling part the most. From my experiences with car trips with my cat Nessa (including several short trips around St. Louis to help her get accustomed to the car), I knew she did not like traveling. So much that she usually meowed constantly. The thought of a 15-hour car trip with a crying cat was almost unbearable.

Luckily, we had the power of drugs on our side, and I was counting on them to save us. Before leaving on New Year's Eve, we gave Nessa the sedative our vet had prescribed, as she seemed to respond to it quite well during our trial run the day before. Once we got on the road, she started her usual meowing almost instantly, and over the course of the first hour, it got louder and louder. She eventually starting pawing at the carrier door, hoping to force her way out. She began sounding rather panicky, and I started to worry that she was going to completely flip out. I tried calling our vet, but their office closed early for the holiday. I called my sister, who works at an animal shelter and is in school to be a vet tech. . . she consulted one of her books and informed me that sometimes the medication could make nervous cats more hypersensitive. Great. Desperate for a solution as Nessa's crying intensified, I called the animal hospital, which recommended that we not up her dosage. The drug--the one thing I was hoping would make it a bearable trip--would be unable to save us. So much for the marvels of medicine.

Nessa cried the entire way there. And I mean, literally, the entire way. Dan and I discovered that if the car was quiet she would stop for 10 minutes or so at a time, so we did not listen to any music the entire drive. We barely spoke to each other, and if we did so, it was only in whispers. We used lots of gestures, including gesturing "Happy New Year!" to each other when the clock struck midnight while driving on Interstate 70. The entire trip was like having a sleeping baby in the car that we dare not wake. Tired from all of our travels and packing, and tired of hearing Nessa crying, we ended up breaking up the trip into three days instead of two. This gave us the added benefit of one more night in a real bed and an extra evening of cable, something we never have at home--score!

When we finally crossed the border into Pennsylvania and made our way across the state, I had an unexpected feeling of being home. My family is not from the South; we moved there when I was four, and as long as I lived there, I never felt rooted there. As we made our way through the Pennsylvania mountains, I had a feeling of coming full circle. My grandmother and grandfather were both born and raised in western Pennsylvania, and my mom was born there, too. Dan's father was born and raised in Philadelphia, and his mother was born and raised in a small town just west of here. Dan was actually born here in Philly, though his family moved away when he was just an infant, and he also spent some time as a child in State College, PA.

Even if you move away from somewhere, and even if you've never lived there, I think that a little part of your family's place of origin stays in your bones. I never really realized it before, but as we winded our way across the state, I could definitely feel it. There was a little part of me that felt connected with my family in a way I hadn't before. . . a little piece inside of me telling me that, in unknown ways, this strange place was home.

I've Done It

As promised, I have joined Facebook. Now I just have to figure it out. I feel like a freakin' dinosaur. (Luckily, Dan is helping.)

Why You Should Not Post at 1 AM

In an effort to keep my promise of daily posts, I have found myself writing into the wee hours of the night (by wee hours, I mean anytime after 11, as I am usually in bed by 10:30). I've been so busy during the day that I usually don't get to blogging until late in the evening. Reading over one of my recent posts, I realize late-night writing may not be a good plan. I am usually quite conscientious about leaving any personal attacks off the blog, but apparently a need to vent combined with my half-conscious state led to a less than conscientious post. I have since taken it down. My apologies for irresponsible blogging behavior. In future, I shall keep my Internet filter in check.

Farewell to St. Louis

For the most part, Dan and I were more than ready to leave St. Louis behind. Nearly all of our friends had left and moved to other places, and though the city has some wonderful qualities, I always felt sad witnessing its inability to recover from the great flee to the suburbs decades ago. St. Louis seems to suffer from a constant feeling of inadequacy, combined with an unhealthy dose of inertia. Nonetheless, there are many things I love about St. Louis, namely the affordable cost of living and the abundance of free things to do, including free museums, free musicals in the summer, lots of cultural events, and one of the most fabulous urban parks in the country.

Dan and I never really had a chance to give St. Louis an official goodbye. We hit up a few of our favorite spots in the days before leaving, but everything else was a blur of cleaning and packing, among other things. The movers came and went, taking nearly all of our stuff with them and leaving us with little more than an air mattress and some cleaning supplies. The day before we began our drive to Philly, we gave our cats a trial run of their sedative for the car trip. Poor Elsie, who weighs less than seven pounds, got a little too much. She was literally falling over, and I couldn't help but freak out, as no one had prepared me for such a strong effect from the meds. After a panicked phone call to the vet's office, we ended up taking the cats to the vet to have them checked out, as I was unable to focus on anything else. Luckily, all was well, and Elsie ended up getting quite a nice high from her medication, purring constantly, loving everyone, and being so out of it that she did not even attempt to move her butt out of the air after her temperature was taken at the vet's office. Though it became quite amusing in the end, it definitely added to the stress of preparing to leave town.

On our scheduled departure day, we ended up leaving much later than we planned (has anyone ever actually left on time while moving?). We had quite an experience trying to fit everything into our car; we didn't know how long we would be without our stuff in Philadelphia, and since Dan had to start work almost right away, we had to keep everything we would need with us. We struggled to stuff the car (and its roof bag) with clothes, shoes, personal items, cleaning supplies, kitchen items, an air mattress, blankets and pillows, Dan's computer, two cats, their litter box, their bed, their food, and all their other crap into the car. In the end, we threw/gave some things away that we had intended to take with us, though we were able to hang on to almost everything. After finishing up cleaning, getting into a spat with our landlord about switching over the gas bill, and leaving several hours later than planned, I don't think I even took a glance into the rear view mirror as we drove away.

I would, therefore, like to say an official goodbye to St. Louis. Here are my parting words to the city, its people, and its places.

• Mi Ranchito, I will miss you forever. After searching for months for good Mexican food in St. Louis, you were like a beacon of light in culinary darkness. I will always be grateful that you were only a half black from my house and that you had the best cheese dip and chips in the world. I miss them already.

• Dance St. Louis, I only wish you had begun your Spring to Dance Festival earlier. An amazing mix of professional dance companies, with three nights of performances, for only $10 a night? Truly awesome. Sadly, I only had the chance to go during its first year. . . sigh.

• My beloved Gardens, what can I say? My morning rambles among your beauty brought me so much peace. Thanks for the comfort and stillness you brought me each and every visit.

• My dear St. Louisans, you simply do not understand food. Though St. Louis is home to many wonderful restaurants, Dan and I learned not to rely on your "City's Best of" recommendations, as you clearly have a distorted sense of what tastes good. I never, ever learned to enjoy St. Louis-style pizza; as my friend Jaime best described it, it is like Cheez Whiz on a Ritz cracker. Provel is an abomination and cannot be described as cheese. The fact that some of your Italian restaurants use Provel rather than mozzarella is nothing short of blasphemous.
  

• Schlafly Bottleworks, I regret that I did not visit you more. Your slightly out-of-the way location kept you far from mind sometimes, but I still dream of your Field Greens Salad and Sticky Toffee Pudding. Your mac and cheese rocks, and your commitment to local food sources rocks even more. You are lovely.

• Speaking of Schlafly, here's a shout out to the local beers. To the Schlafly and O'Fallon Breweries, you make a damn fine brew. I always looked forward to the pumpkin beer each fall and the Wheach (peach-wheat) beer in summer. Anheuser-Busch, Schmanheuser-Busch. The small brewery's where it's at.
  

• St. Louis, you have got to get over your inferiority complex, and you have got to stop pretending like you are the next Chicago. You are not. Let it go, figure out who you really are, and for heaven's sake do something about it.
  

• Forest Park, you are a lovely place. I wish I had explored you more. Thanks for the hot air balloon race every year, which never failed to make me feel like an excited little kid.

• My dear Muny, thanks for the memories, and for seven weeks of free entertainment every summer. Though your seats became sticky in the summer heat, you gave us an opportunity to see many fabulous shows we would never have seen otherwise. As a lover of the arts who can rarely afford tickets to anything, you were such a treat, and always first-rate.
  

• Erin Bode, we are so happy to have found you. You are one of a handful of artists that Dan and I both enjoy. Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving us music we can stand to listen to together. We have spent countless evenings with your CDs and a bottle of wine.
  

• And finally, to all St. Louisans I would like to say. . . I do not give a shit about the Cardinals. Or, in fact, about baseball. There. I said it.

And so we go, away from the old and on to the new. Farewell, St. Louis.

Housewife

I just finished ironing Dan's shirt and pants for work tomorrow morning. This is not something I typically do, but since Dan is working and I'm currently not, I try to do what I can at home to give him more time to relax. Earlier today, I went grocery shopping and babysat for a 3-year-old (the daughter of a friend of ours), and the rest of my first few weeks here has mostly been spent cleaning and organizing the house, doing laundry, decorating our new place, running errands, and researching all the things we will need for our life here (e.g., finding a primary care doctor, looking into CSAs and credit unions).

My days are filled with endless domesticity. I am, essentially, a housewife. This is not a role to which I am accustomed. While stay-at-home moms are goddesses to be worshipped, my housewife routine (sans children) makes me feel like a throwback to the '50s. I iron Dan's clothes, get up with him in the morning, and help him with things like packing his lunch and making sure he has everything he needs. I clean, wash clothes, make lists, run errands. I watch some of "The Today Show" and occasionally "Oprah." I wait for Dan to get home and greet him at the door. While I still cannot complete any task that falls under the category of "cooking" (that remains Dan's domain), I try to take care of other things around the house in the evenings, encouraging Dan to do whatever makes him feel relaxed after his day at work.

Soon I will be wearing heels, pearls, and an apron while washing dishes and vacuuming.

While I partially loathe my new 1950s persona and sometimes feel guilty that I'm not yet working (and, in fact, have not yet started looking for a job), there is a part of me that secretly enjoys it. I really do believe that one's home should be a sanctuary from the rest of the world, so I take great pride in making our home a place that is peaceful, personal, and comfortable. I like being able to do nice things for my husband. And of course I love being home and not working, making my own schedule, and taking care of things I would never have time to do if I was at work all day.

Don't get me wrong. . . this is not my new life plan. I'm already starting to feel the itch to get back to work, and some days I feel a little crazy cooped up in the apartment. Financially, Dan and I cannot afford to do this for long. But my temporary life as a housewife is also such a nice break, and a much-needed one. I have many responsibilties but very little stress, with many opportunities to nurture myself after a rough couple of years. I'm able to make my home the place I need it to be before I venture out into the job market (I'm a person who is greatly affected by her environment, so having a home that is a haven is extremely important to me). Dan has less to worry about, which I'm grateful for as we both adjust to a new place. And for the first time in a long time, the aches and pains from constantly being under so much stress seem to be fading away.

My job search will likely start next week (an exciting and terrifying prospect). Until then, I'm going to enjoy playing housewife for just a while longer. I'm going to savor this chance to make my house a home, to learn the best places to go shopping, and to whip up a batch of cookies now and then. Hell, I might even tie on my apron.

Apologies

My Dear Readers,

I have missed you! I'm sorry for such a long delay. We just got Internet a week ago, and life has hardly slowed down for a second since we got here.

Recounting the last few weeks in one post would be impossible, not to mention that it would make for an excessively tedious read. To make up for several weeks with no blog activity, I plan to do a post a day for at least the next week recounting everything from Christmas to our move to our first weeks in Philadelphia. I hereby promise to have a post daily, starting tomorrow. And, for those of you wondering about my Facebook status, I promise to get my account set up by the end of the week as well.

Life is slowly starting to feel normal here, so hopefully I'll soon be back to normal activities, like posting more than once a month. Thanks for hanging in there and waiting for me!

Jenn