Homesick: depressed or melancholy at being away from home and family

I just thought you might like to see a fairly recent photo of me with my children and grandchildren.  This was taken on Mother's Day over at my son's house.  The only person missing, of course, is Dear Hubby.  I posted this on my Facebook page with the caption saying something about how lonely a Mother's Day it would've been if we hadn't all been able to move here to Michigan together.  I couldn't imagine my life without them all being in it on a daily basis.

It is so hot and so humid today, Memorial Day.  We are again heading out to our son's house for a barbecue.  Well, barbecue beef sandwiches.  I'm not sure we'll be cooking anything on the grill.  Or if we'll sit outside.  Or in the house in central air-luxury.  We have central air.  We also have a humidifier.  But do we know how to activate them?  No.  Never had to use air conditioning in the Northwest.  We'd have our hot days there but never enough to warrant going out and spending a small fortune on air conditioning units.  Fans did us quite nicely, thank you.  This morning Dear Hubby and I noticed moisture on the linoleum floor in the basement.  Kind of like a very slight 'dew', I guess you'd call it.  We've never experienced that before, either.  A west coast friend who lived back here was on Facebook and I asked her if this was normal.  She told me yes, and it'd be a good idea to get a humidifier.  I told her we already have one but don't know how to use it.  I haven't heard back so I'm thinking she doesn't know how to either, haha!  Luckily we discovered this before one of the deer mounts on the floor was ruined from absorbed moisture.  Dear Hubby took it outside and laid it on a towel in the driveway to dry out in the sun.  I'm thinking there is a lot about this new climate we live in that we don't have a clue about.

One thing I am not is homesick.  I find that very ironic, considering I was a child who'd get so homesick when I tried spending the nite at a neighbor's when I was 4 or 5 I'd cry in the nite and my friend Annie's dad would kindly walk me over to my house and deliver me to my parents', where I'd happily go upstairs to the familiarity of my own bed.  Maybe it's because I do have all of my 'nuclear' family here with me.  Maybe it's because my siblings and I have never lived in each others' pockets.  Maybe it's because I don't have much extended family to worry about or miss anymore.  But life here has picked up to its normal pace and that makes things feel more 'homelike' here.  I'm again taking care of my grandsons on a full time basis so my days are busy and full.  I don't feel lost any more as I travel about.  Even the Michigander accent doesn't sound so unusual to my ear now.  In fact, we got a wrong-number-call last week from someone out in Portland and the man I spoke to sounded kind of 'funny' to me.  I'm used to us sounding western, and our friends and family sounding western...but anybody else around us?  No......  So that was kind of surreal.

The grandboys are finally to the stage where I don't have to be constantly involved in what they're doing now.  They can watch TV around me.  They can play around me.  But they don't require me to take part in everything.  So one thing I'm getting back to that I've missed terribly these past few years is reading.  I'd forgotten what a luxury it is to sit down with a book and be able to read more than a paragraph without "Grandma!" ringing out.  It still takes me the bulk of the week to read an entire book, but considering I've hardly read anything --  well, what I would consider anything  --  the past few years, this is so pleasant to come back to!  In the few months we've lived here that I hadn't been doing day care, I couldn't get enough books to read.   It's like they were telling me, "Welcome BACK!"

We're off to our son's now. 

Pragmatic: of or pertaining to a practical point of view or practical considerations.

My daughter used the word "pragmatic" the other day in describing me.  I had mentioned to her how many people have commented to me about how easily I seem to have adapted to our new life here in Michigan  and she said, "Well, Mom, you're very pragmatic."  So I looked it up and I copied the first meaning of the word, which I've put up there in my title.  I'm hoping this is the definition she was alluding to, not some of the others:  officious, meddlesome, interfering, dogmatic, and opinionated.  I don't mind being practical.  But I surely don't want to be meddlesome and opinionated.  Or interfering.  Or snobby.  Pompous. 

Oh yeah.  I'm definitely practical.  I'm very literal.  I take everything at face value.  I'm a right-down-the-middle-of-the-road kind of thinker.  I'm not frivolous.  And I am not impulsive.  Compulsive, yes.  I don't suffer fools gladly.  I weigh things very carefully and when I've made a final decision it takes a lot to convince me to do something differently.  I can't stand indecision.  If we're lost, we're lost: let's go get directions.  I don't think I have a bone inside of me that can be embarrassed. 

And yet, even with all that practicality, I can get flustered if I come in on the end of a conversation and have only heard bits and pieces of what's said, then not understand why what I say confuses everyone because it has nothing to do with what they've been talking about.  I can drive my family insane with talking in circles.  I don't get to points very quickly.  My mind wanders down this path, switches mid-stride, and veers off on this fork, that fork, and any other fork in the road it comes to that looks interesting, that has possibilities.   I am always being told I'm very, very funny.  Which, for someone who is so pragmatic, I find that funny.  But I guess I am.  Others ought to know.

But I'm tired of writing about adjustments.  Newness of surroundings.  Adapting.  I'm ready to get back to the real meat of living, the everyday-ness of my life.  To the point where, once I'm out driving...if my mind wanders...I know where I'm at when I come back to myself and not half-panic wondering where I'm at, if I missed a turn or took too many.  To no longer wonder when I go on to I-96 if I'm heading towards Detroit or away from it.  I'm pretty good at north and south, but east and west here still throws me for a little loop.  I want to be able to say the cute little garden center I spotted the other day was on the corner of Merriman and 7 Mile Road...or, wait...was that 6 Mile instead?  Nah, maybe it was Farmington and 5 Mile.  To know where a favorite Mexican restaurant is, and not have to look on Google to find where the Goodwill in Canton Township is...to not need driving directions to find it.  To know where the post office in Livonia is.   To no longer feel like the new kid on the block. 

There is progress.  I know how to find the library without having to think it thru every time I go. I know where to turn to find the kids' house, even tho I still have a tendency to keep driving past it, then have to back up.  I can find my way to the warehouse where everyone works without going the wrong direction on the freeway.  I can go grocery shopping and remember which aisles certain food items are on.  I don't drive past our street any more.  I know which house is mine as I come up to it...and, believe me, with every house on our street being brick ranch bungalows, that in itself is a miracle.

I learned a long time ago:  just go with the flow.  Don't sweat the little stuff.  Ease into things.  And if I do all that it's pretty amazing how life just keeps on keeping on.  One day at a time.  One step at a time.

Peace - that was the other name for home. ~ Kathleen Norris

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Isn't it amazing how quickly the unfamiliar becomes familiar?  How we humans adapt so quickly to new surroundings...how quickly we want to make ourselves at 'home'?  We don't like it when routines get messed around with.  We don't like unexpected changes in plans.  We don't like change, period.  We like being in our comfort zones.  Change makes us irritable.  Anxious.  Unsettled and uncertain.

It was two months ago today that my son, daughter, two grandsons and I caught our flight from Portland and soared off into the skies for Detroit.  Two months.  I have no idea where that time has gone to.  Already it feels like our life there was the beginning of a book whose ending I don't know yet...I've moved on to the next chapter.  And even tho I remember what I've already read, I'm turning new pages in anticipation of finding what the Writer has planned for me on the dawning of each new day.

For example...this is a picture of our dining area at 6:30 this morning.  The sun was streaming thru the doors in such a way I had to capture it.  For the moment.  It proved to be a perfect spring day here in Michigan.  I received an email from someone in Portland this morning telling me it was raining there.  And it seemed so far away.  Off in the past somewhere.  It doesn't affect me any more.

It is the strangest sensation.

I am more here than there now.  This is where I will most likely live out the rest of my days.  I will most likely be buried here.  I am 2/3 of the way back to my ancestral roots in New England.  If I live so long, this is where I'll watch my grandchildren grow up.  And, if they have any memories of the Northwest, they'll be sketchy at best.  They probably won't remember the marathon walks we took all over southeast Portland.  They won't remember the visits to the fire station or the names of the garbage and recycling men.  They won't remember Kim the pizza lady or Roger the mailman.  Or what our house looked like.  Or theirs.  Their memories will be made here.

The day we signed the papers to close our mortgage the son who was the executor of his father's estate was there also.  A very nice gentleman. He had grown up in our house, along with his two brothers.  And as we finished signing the dozens of documents he came over and shook our hands and told us, "I want  you to know that house is full of all kinds of happy memories.  And I hope it will be full of happy memories for you as well."

What a lovely blessing, to be told that by someone who'd lived here before us.  I felt it the moment I walked into this house for the first time in January...that this was to be my new home.  And I could feel the peacefulness here, the 'good vibes' if you will.  And in these two short months, it is home.

As we turned down our street Sunday evening after spending the day in Kitchener, Ontario, I felt an emotion sweep over me.  And I knew exactly what it was.

It felt good to come home.

The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too. ~ Teresa of Avila

When we left Portland not only did we leave our home and our friends and our family.  We left behind our church as well.  And here in Michigan we are hundreds of miles from what we call one of our 'branch' churches that are scattered around the US and Canada here in North America.  The nearest two are in Chicago which is 266 to 303 miles away, depending on which route you take, and Kitchener, Ontario, Canada, which is 204 miles.  It's 133 miles inland from the US/Canada border so when you go to Kitchener you are definitely IN Canada and not some border town that seems as American to us as I'm sure our border towns seem almost Canadian to them.  Since we've been living in Michigan we've been 'worshiping' via the live internet broadcast of our Portland church's Sunday morning service.  Tho here, in the Eastern Time Zone, we're settling down on the couch at 2 pm.  It's been working very well for us, too...we 'see' everyone we know on the screen and, in all actuality, probably focus better on the music and the sermon better than we ever did 'live' in the sanctuary.  There aren't the people and noise distractions.  The cameras might scan the congregation here and there, but mostly it's on the musicians, choir, and pastor.  Very up-close and personal.

Even so...it's not quite the same.  I no longer have my beloved Aunt Lois to come and sit with me most Sundays.  I miss her sweet smile, her infectious laughter, her hugs and kisses.  We don't get to chitchat with dear friends.  I can no longer catch my dear friend Karen's eye across the sanctuary and I miss the discreet little waves we'd give each other.  But we made this choice to move.  We felt when we made that choice we were in the center of God's will for our lives.  And we still feel that just as strongly now as the day I boarded the jet to fly 'home' to the Detroit area, the day Dear Hubby and our daughter-in-law set out to drive 2/3 of the way across America.

In all of the official switching over from residence in one state to another, we of course needed to get new drivers licenses.  Here in Michigan because it borders Canada you can choose to apply for an enhanced license  which works almost like a Passport in allowing you to cross the border.  It has an embedded microchip in it and you have to keep it in a sheath for radio frequency protection.  I believe it's not only for easing the border crossing but also helps encourage commerce between the two countries, especially for towns and cities nearby.  It seems like a lot of information is needed to prove you live here in Michigan.  I told the clerk at the Secretary of State office I'd brought everything but my Death Certificate.  She thought that was pretty funny.  To get the enhanced license you have to provide answers for a couple of security questions.  They asked me, "What was your father's occupation at the time of your birth?"  I mean, really.  How many people would know that?  But I have a photographic memory and as I pictured my Birth Certificate in my mind I saw "mailman" and indeed he was.  Whewwwwwwwww.

Dear Hubby and I had been wanting to attend our church in Kitchener but we had to wait to have our enhanced licenses before we could go.  Mine finally came the Friday before Easter.  Not enough time to make plans.  So we decided to make the trip this past Sunday.  We drove to Port Huron and as we crossed the bridge there to Sarnia, Ontario, what a beautiful view of the port and Lake Huron!  It was my first trip ever into Canada so that was pretty exciting for me and crossing into the country was very pain free.  It was a gray and overcast day but even so the landscape was so pretty.  Many, many farms with barns and silos.  Well-maintained farm houses.  We stopped along the way to buy "petrol" and for a 'breather' - if you catch my meaning - and as we walked out to our vehicle a very nice young gentleman stopped us and asked us where we were from in Michigan...he'd spotted our license plate.  We told him from the Detroit area and he welcomed us to Canada and wished us a pleasant visit.  As we came to Kitchener, a city of 230,000, traffic became a little more congested.  We had Google Map directions and wouldn't you know they weren't quite right.  So we drove around in circles for a few minutes until I convinced my son to stop at a market so I could go in and ask for directions.  "From the States, eh?" the clerk asked me, and he was very kind and gave me excellent directions.  Got us right to the church.  We ended up being almost late...the musicians had already started playing...but the usher greeted us warmly and we went inside and took our seats.  We were given song books and people all around us smiled in welcome.  And then the congregational singing started!  There was a piano.  An accordian.  A couple of guitars.  A choir with 14 members.  And mercy, they almost took the rafters off the building.  It was WONDERFUL!!  The vast majority of the congregation is Canadians from Newfoundland who'd moved inland to find work.  And they love their music and they love to sing!  I could have sat there and just listened and sung along with them the rest of the day.  I had never experienced anything like it in my life!  And such a sweet, sweet Spirit in that place.  Such a sweet, sweet Spirit in the prayer service that followed.  And then every congregant came up and either shook hands with us or gave me friendly, heartfelt hugs.  They made me feel as if I'd been coming there forever!  The pastor and his wife invited us over for dinner and what an amazing experience that was, too, being welcomed so warmly into their home and being made to feel so comfortable and at ease.  I know Canada is 'right next door' to America but it still IS another country and what a privilege it was to be invited into a family's home to share food and wonderful fellowship.  I felt like a sponge the entire day, just soaking it all in.  And all too soon it was time to head back to 'the States'...it was a 3-hour drive to get there, 3 hours to get home.  But worth every penny in gas, every mile traveled on that smooth and clean Canadian freeway!

And will we go back?  Oh my, a million times yes!  As long as gas prices don't go thru the roof.  As long as the Lord wills.  No matter where in the world you go, God is still the same today, yesterday, and forever.