NOTE: This post was drafted on May 18, but I still don’t know how to do certain editing (putting a series if words in italics, for example) on my iPad. So I had planned on doing that editing on my real computer that night in the new place. But I’m having connectivity issues, and yesterday was the moving van part of the process, so last night I fell into bed surrounded by boxes. Decided this morning to publish the post as drafted.
Today I’ve been up since extra-early o’clock. Slept in the old moving-out-of place last night. The movers are coming this morning to pack all the stuff I didn’t want to attempt moving myself (grandmother’s china, items from my great-grandparents, etc.), along with all the stuff I simply cannot lift (mirrors, big framed wall hangings). So, I’m sitting here for a brief peaceful moment, in advance of the chaos, with some yogurt/granola and my iPad. (Critical elements for life, such as my coffee pot and my computer are over at the new place–but, with my iPad, I’m at least connected, if not caffeinated.)
As I’ve been sitting here in the complete stillness (experienced rarely anymore and only when television is not an option), I’ve been thinking that moving is one of the ways we can sample hell on earth. And every time I move I say the same thing: This is the last time!
How many time have I moved? Funny you should ask. This current move makes number thirty! Yes, a nice round number. So once again I say, “This is the last time!” Seriously.
Not all of the thirty moves were of my own doing. Since I’m counting from when I was born, at least a half dozen or more of those early relocations were my parents’ fault, of course, although several life-altering events are associated with each of those domiciles. But from the time I left for college (and I’m counting the college dorms as being among the thirty “residences”), every move has either been of my own choosing (generally quite exciting situations marking positive changes) or the result of some stupid decision I made along the way.
Several years ago, the thought occurred to me that an interesting idea for a memoir might be to track the formative moments in a life through the places in which a person had lived. And since I have photographs of almost all of the thirty (the number was only 28 when this brainstorm hit), I thought “that person” might be me, and I actually starting crafting the outline for that book.
Then, after spending about forty hours on the project and getting sort of jazzed, another thought occurred to me: What the heck am I doing? Who on earth is going to care about where I lived, or what happened to me and to my family in each of those places, or what I ended up learning from those various parts of the country, types and sizes of houses/apartments, and how each location ran in tandem with the development of my heart, soul, dreams, aspirations, and calamities? No one even knows who in the world “Cheri Laser” is! Not to mention the fact that everyone in America seems to be writing a memoir–even 16-year-old pop singing phenoms named Justin. (There’s actually something a tad bit annoying, to tell the truth, about a 16-year-old person who’s already [theoretically] crammed enough substantive life experiences into sixteen brief years to support a memoir. Do you think there might be any padding in there? Or perhaps the book is only twenty pages long …?)
At any rate … whatever.
After extensive consideration of all the above, no motivating or inspirational answers to my questions were forthcoming, so I ceased my work on that memoir and shifted all of my concentration to Separation of Faith.
Now, who knows? Readers are discovering Separation of Faith all over the country through word of mouth, contest placements, book clubs, and so forth. And dreams have a funny way of materializing, if you never give up. So, maybe someday people will know who the heck I am–and then, perhaps, there might be some interest in the thirty places where I’ve lived and all that comes along with that theme.
Should even a trace of that scenario ever come to pass, I just happen to have a book ready to resurrect on the subject.
Meanwhile, back to the real world of May 18, 2011 and to move number thirty. Hope you all have a beautiful day!