When Mosa was twelve, and about to graduate from sixth grade, we decided to move from the hills of Sherman Oaks to the “flats” of Studio City. She was gung-ho to attend Walter Reed Jr. High School - a (gasp) PUBLIC school, instead of what her dad refers to as “la escuela de mucho dinero,” where, he says, they don’t give report cards, but rather invoices. Many of her friends matriculated to Oakwood - often called Coke-wood or Smoke-wood in those days. Wonder if that’s still the case?
The NEW home came with a pool, walkability to said public school, where it turned out the cute guy from sixth grade would also be attending, and a huge mortgage.
It has been a marvelous house in service to many functions... weddings and showers, memorial services, dozens of workshops, family gatherings, dinners with friends, a home away from home for multiple folks and stray animals, as well as my mom’s final living space. We have been blessed to have the cozy walls embrace everyone who enters here, and surround us with love.
The move itself was the biggest so far, involving a moving van - like the gigantico vans hired by people who have major STUFF.
Almost immediately after moving here, Mark was called to Sidney, Australia to work on a TV game show. When he returned, the girls caught him out with one of the most delicious scams: verbally bemoaning the fact that, in his absence, Megan had not learned to swim, and then both of them jumped into the pool and swam the length and back to his (mock?) astonishment. Both parents and kids beamed with pride. Did I mention it was February? The water was icy. They both came out bluish.
Later our two meshuganah doggies, Marvin Gardens and MacDougal would also learn to swim after tennis balls in this pool.
We had virtually no furniture when we moved in here. It was rather like a giant indoor track where we enjoyed running around and around in the large circle from entry way through living room, family room, dining room, kitchen, formal (tiny) dining room, and back to entry way… over and over and over again. Empty was good. Now it’s FULL of furniture, and that's good too… except it's a LOT to move.
As we prep and pack for this next move - to OAKLAND!! - I’m aware that THIS will be the biggest move to date, and likely, our last. We’ve accumulated so much memorabilia of four full lives lived within these walls, that it appears we may take up TWO moving vans. That seems ridiculous!
Do I REALLY want to keep my grandparent’s, parents, and kids STUFF? Not so much, but going through it all has been a delicious dance down memory lane.
There’s the photo my Gramps snapped on the NY train platform, of “the woman I’m going to marry,” as he told his traveling buddy. Gramps saw an opportunity, and gallantly gave up his lower berth to Grammy’s portly sister Mary Polly and her eight year old son. Portly was the polite term for Aunt Polly. She had actually burst into tears on discovering that her assigned berth was an upper. Grammy says she fell in love with Gallant Gramps, immediately. He saved the day for her obese sister. Two years later, they were married, and three years after that, my mom was born. That photo MUST come along to Oakland and be embraced by new loving walls.
There are all the lovable-unlovable pots Mosa and Megan made in the pottery studio of my friend Jen. Teeny tiny glazed bits of clay fashioned into small vessels perfect for holding vitamins to take with breakfast. How many of these darling clay pots do we need?
Then there’s a box filled with the extremely pared down copious volumes of poetry my very prolific mother wrote in her later years… not to mention the notes from scholarly classes which she took, and which I just might want to read one day. Oh, and historical documents, and letters from my father, from a time when he and my mother were madly in love.
Sigh... there doesn’t seem to be enough time in a LIFETIME to touch and read and ponder all the wonders of life and of lives lived with creative souls.
Better to HAVE what you don’t need, than to regret tossing, and NEED what you no longer have.
Moving on…
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