Culture shock

I grew up in a small town known for blue birds that don't sing, peaches that are always sweet, and Trojan warriors that never lose a battle. I spent most of my younger years counting the days until I could leave and go somewhere else.

Somewhere where art and music and magick were everywhere. Where life was busy and trees were tall. Where the waves crash on the shores and there is always something going on

Fourteen years ago I packed up my Geo and moved to Savannah after just a few weekend visits. I loved the city. I loved the culture. I loved the busy-ness and the mystical vibe of the city. Once there I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Savannah is an eclectic mix of Old World gypsy charm with sleek and modern. The pace is fast, the vibe is slow. There's very little you could ever want that is not there and there is always something going on. 

And as I celebrated my fourteenth year in Savannah, we were preparing to move. Boxes packed, labeled, and piled into a lemon yellow truck had a way of solidifying our decision to leave the culture we loved and embrace something new. The decision itself was sudden, the move took forever. I suppose I have been in a bit of shock, somewhere between trying to dream of a new way of life and trying to be practical. 

Entirely too many times practicality has won out. 

If there was a way to describe our lives here now, it would be a smooth blend of caffeine infused decaf, smoothly blended without sugar and topped with whipped cream and caramel. With a very slight bite that comes when the coffee is a bit too strong for the rest of the beverage. Every moment seems to be filled with something that needs to be done. In Savannah, we lived a simple life but we chose our moments. It sometimes feels as if those moments have been stolen away in some respect. 

Dad's house needs a lot of tlc, lots of repairs, and it has felt over the last few months as if there is a timeline. Everything has to happen spot on time. My shop relocated with very few issues, much to my surprise. As I hear very often, this is the Bible belt, and although I have met some cranky people, we have been received well. So well in fact I have been too busy keeping up to be busy with the repairs of the home.

Over the last few months our sons have been adjusting. Robert, who is the more calm of the two, has been out of sorts. But overall Dad is back home where he wants to spend the rest of his life, our family is together, and we have a larger space for our family. 

A few minutes with my Bobby and the source of his angst is revealed. 

Vidalia is a small town. Very small. So small you can drive all the way across it in a mere 12 minutes. There is no rush, the trees are tall and the stars shine bright. Traffic is light, nights are dark. And yet I have been running on coffee fumes and still living in full Savannah mode. I seem to have missed the entire point. 

For the first time since we have been together Larry has had time with his family. He has worked days, nights, swing shifts, holidays, in the elements, sick and well and has missed many of the days that make being a parent the whipped cream on the frappe. Larry's work IS his family now. He spends his days caring for his Dad, and his afternoons trying to catch up on repairs. It is his family home and despite the endless list of repairs that are needed, it has a great deal of character.

Shortly after moving in, we found two hidden rooms. There are four porches (each one facing a direction), two living rooms, two kitchens, and over all a construction that feels as if each room was added as it occurred to the architect. It's odd and interesting, a place of curiosity for little boys looking for an adventure. Except since moving here there hasn't been much in the way of adventures. It's been full of work, repairs, and, well, busy-ness. Somewhere in the wiring, the ceiling panels, planks of timber, and sorting out piles of items, Bobby got lost. Bobby lost his Mommy time, his Larry time, the time he used to spend with both of us.

Somewhere among all of this, Bobby's adventures came to a screeching halt. His artistic soul was screaming to come out and play amid everything. He wanted his life in Savannah where there were after school play dates, circles, art, picnics in the park, and Mommy crafting time. I thought my little boy had outgrown this time. That he no longer needed it. But I forgot the old saying that my babies would always be my babies, and he would always need his Mommy time.

As the new year slid into play, so did our family. We made resolutions to remove all the extra complications from our lives. To bring only what we love doing to life. To move back into that whipped cream on the frappe mode. We still have the repairs. We will still have the repairs for many months to come. The creative blockage I have been struggling with for months has lifted as I made the choice to close my brick and mortar shop and choose festivals, fairs, and a spot online. My writing has shifted also as I have chosen to leave a writing job to be completely independent and free form. My sons have their Mommy back completely and whole. While my health is nowhere near what it was before moving here, it has improved since making this choice. It's allowed me to spend more time with my sons and less time with my blanket.

Life is simpler here. It's slower, more languid. I moved to Savannah to shift life into gear only to discover years later what I need sometimes is for life to run on cruise. This is home. This is where my husband was born. Where our sons will grow up. Where our grandchildren will one day call home. It's not Savannah, we all feel that, but it has its quirks.

Bloom where you are planted, my tee shirt says. My three little flowers raise their faces to the bright full moon and so do I. Here I find my heart and soul.

Namaste ~