Flying on the “mio”
“He looks like he’s reading!”
It was a comment from the lady sitting next to my son and me on the plane. She was not pleased to be seated next to an 18-month-old.
I wanted to say, “Oh, but he can!” But no, my son didn’t read yet. But at least he was sitting quietly with the in-flight magazine, intently studying the pictures and slowly turning each page as if he were reading every word.
And to my delight (not to mention that of the lady by the window), he was actually a joy on the flight. Maybe it was the excitement of spending the last week with me in a local motel while our condo got painted. Or the busy airport we walked through. This whole past week had been a whirlwind of change. And today, best of all, he was so pleased to be flying in one of his treasured “mios” – his word for airplanes.
The most impatient he got was toward the end of the flight when he kept asking, “I get down now?” But even then, he was really placid with everything.
Ed, by contrast, had driven a box truck with some of our belongings down to NC, along with our dog. He had to meet the large moving truck that day, then pick us up at the airport.
Cue the eerie music…
When we decided to roll the dice and accept the job in North Carolina, things moved quickly. I had set up an itinerary for him to travel there and arrange what was needed — an apartment, job paperwork, and all the myriad of details for our move.
It was almost eerie to see just how quickly and easily EVERYTHING came together. From me setting up his hotel, rental car, and flights, to obtaining the very apartment we wanted, to renting a box truck for him to drive down.
It was almost scary how well it all went. The process of moving, usually horrible, was one of the smoothest I could have asked for. The moving company’s packers and people loading the truck were great to work with. At least at the Connecticut end. Ed had a different experience in North Carolina, but still, the driver in charge of it all made everything work well enough.
Probably the biggest issue we had at our end was me when I was ready to slit open the waterbed mattress because it wouldn’t drain. My engineer-minded husband took over on that one, which probably saved us from a flood in the condo.
In any event, between movers, the box truck, and a ride on the “mio” we made it to North Carolina.
Our “base camp”
For that first year, we lived in a small apartment near RTP. It was a joy for my husband because, for the first time in three years, he didn’t have an hour or two commute each way. Call it TEN MINUTES!
Within a year, we moved to a house we built in a nearby town. The schools were supposedly good. Parks. Lots of shopping and a small community environment.
Again, it seemed like a higher force at work. It was a town we shouldn’t have been able to afford, yet we found a home in the more rural northern end of town that was perfect and even overlooked a pond.
It was another one of those gambles because we “just” qualified for the mortgage and sale price. In fact, the day we signed the papers and placed a deposit, we learned that the price was going up 20% the next month, which would have priced us out.
And later on, we found out that the day after we signed, one of the neighbors in that cul-de-sac went to buy our lot to give him more room. He missed out by a day. Or rather, we literally locked in that place with only 24 hours to spare.
Whatever forces were at work, this house would be our “base camp” for the next 23 years. Cue the eerie music?
Now, the REAL work starts
It’s not that we suddenly had everything peaceful and easy. I think that with the pressure of the job and commute lowered, and a stable set of circumstances, the dust could finally settle enough to see exactly where the real issues were. It was now time for our REAL work to begin…
Soul Mosaic 
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