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I started the word processor at my desk, after sitting here for the past hour thinking about what I would write.  For some reason it ‘auto-opened’ the following file from last Fall.  And it was oddly apropos:

October 23, 2009 -- No matter how you prepare for a loss there is always an element that stings.  And when a prepared-for loss is followed by the shock of another on its tail there is a compounding effect:  a double gut punch.

This week opened with the familiar feeling of the malaise I’ve had hanging over me for the prior two to three.  I woke up in the late morning next to my cat Harvey, a familiar scene.  She yawned and stretched as I swung my feet to the floor, grateful that she hadn’t done her normal ‘morning-get-up-get-up-get-up-or-I’ll-walk-on-you-until-you-do’ routine. 

Pot of coffee brewed, bacon and eggs consumed, kitchen cleaned top to bottom (a little over caffeinated) I returned to my desk and busied myself in a not-so-normal way.  The day flew by and that evening I watched the Phillies win the game at home with Harvey at my side on the couch.  A few celebratory beers out at the bar after the game and it was home to bed.  As I climbed up the stairs to the bedroom I walked past the cat who was lying on the carpet just inside the front door.  “What’s wrong Harv?  come on... time for bed.”  I climbed into bed and didn’t even notice that she hadn’t followed me.

The next morning I woke up late... very late.  Coming down to the office I saw Harvey lying in the middle of the floor... not exactly herself.  Her demeanor was off... she wasn’t feeling well.  And she didn’t move when I climbed into my chair at my desk. 

Harvey slipped away within 48 hours due to a cancerous tumor that had been growing in her chest undetected for an unknown number of months.  Losing a pet who has been a constant in your life is never easy.  Fast forward eleven months -- we said goodbye to our other cat, Jones, this morning.  And it’s still not easy.

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The idea of Memorial Day weekend wasn't even on my mind when we decided to travel a month ago. The main point of the trip was to attend my niece's birthday barbecue and see my father. Ok, the real reason was to give myself a break from the vise of what had become my life over the past few months in Philadelphia: relentless, compulsive escapism. Stop paying attention to yourself for a second and lessons and meanings begin to pop out of the smallest things - ironic in and of itself... since you'd think we would pay attention to the big things, but we don't. Those just seem to slip right by us.

I only come 'home' once or twice a year. Rochester may be the place I was born and raised, but it hasn't been my residence for what now has been over half of my life. I moved for good in 1990 and have hardly looked back. Family holidays, weddings and funerals have been the impetus for returns. I know I'm not unique in this, as many people have little to no connection to the place they grew up, especially if they moved around a lot as children. It does at times make me feel odd though, especially considering I come from a large family that is still heavily concentrated in western New York... and my father has lived in the same house now for 51 years.... the house I grew up in. Is there guilt about not coming 'home' more often? Do I feel strange about calling it home (in quotations?) Yeah, I do.

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Well, here goes...

It’s time to answer some questions and say, “yes, we are moving.”  Dave and I have decided to say goodbye to Philadelphia and move south... the deep south.  New Orleans will be our new home this time next year.  Why New Orleans?  It was a hard sell actually, for me.  Dave fell in love with the city the first time he went there back in 2004.  It grew on me over the years to the point that now it’s our preferred destination when we travel.  2010 has been a year of many changes for both of us... and will continue to be.  It’s not easy to leave a place you consider home, and that’s just what Philly has become for me since I moved here in 1990.  I came out here, I met my husband, I’ve had many careers, many loves, many highs & lows, and many great times with all the great friends I’ve met along the way.  We don’t leave without a sense of loss, but for both of us the draw of something new and different is too great.  Who knows what the future will bring, but it’s time to do something else.

So this means two things... one more Turkey Sandwich Party the likes of which Bonaparte House has never seen.  (Mark your calendars for the weekend before Thanksgiving 2010.)  And one more of  Dave’s greatest loves of Christmas time... the 12 ft Christmas tree will grace the front windows one last time.


But it’s the end of May right now and there is a lot of planning to do, many things to finish, many things to wrap up and to end.  As I said above it’s a sad thing to say goodbye to all the great people who have come into our lives in the past 20 some-odd years, but we’re going to use this time to truly take advantage of you all.  (Ummm, that didn’t sound right)  To … celebrate the great city we are leaving behind and to also celebrate our future, your future... and the great unknown. 

And yes, Dave is ALREADY starting to plan for the parties this fall.

And I'm going to document the entire process here... for better or for worse.  But no matter what I say, as Dave likes to remind me "he signed a piece of paper and now we're married" so he's not going to get rid of me over it.  (If you've never read the story about our wedding, you can read "Straight Outta Compton" here.

 

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A friend died last week.  I referred to her as my sister-in-law, even though she was really an in-law once removed.  Her name was Annie Murphy Trout and she was married to my brother Jym’s wife’s brother.  I would have to say that inside my very large family there are definitely smaller cliques that hang together.  I am extremely close to my brother Jym, his wife Mary and Mary’s whole family.  I’ve known them for a long time, I worked with all of them, and we’ve spent many ups and downs together.

I often don’t know how to describe my family to friends… it’s big, it’s Irish, it’s functional.  So many of my acquaintances and friends have the typical ‘dysfunctional family’… or so they think.   Don’t get me wrong, some people come from TRULY fucked up backgrounds and I don’t attempt to take that from them; they seem to wear it like a red badge of courage.

My family for all its petty squabbles, multiple divorces and minor dramas is remarkably solid, especially when we celebrate something joyous, or come together in grief.

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 Life:  “You know?  I just don’t give a damn.”  I completely understand Rhett’s indifference to Scarlet in that oft quoted exchange in Gone With The Wind. 

Not everyone’s life can be as sweeping or dramatic as all that however, but you’d be surprised at the number of people who try.  They try very hard to feel that DRAMA is all around them.  They try to cling to a notion that their life, their aspirations, their very existence isn’t exactly what they and everyone else around them fear the most:  that they are inconsequential.

Well, there IS Oprah.  She's important.  And Brad and Angelina are damn important, but the rest of you?  Not so much so.

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