Petra, January 2005, age 3-1/2 on a day we were snowed in.Remember that Michigan board of tourism campaign? People of my generation from MI will remember it, it was a jingle sung on TV with footage of miles of pristine MI Great Lakes coastline. When that ad first aired, I had just moved back to Michigan (I was born in the big D) following my parents' divorce. I went on to stay in Michigan for the next 20-years, my previous 9-years I had moved nearly every year of my life.
I woke up in the dark and wee hours of this California morning, unable to fall back to sleep. Worrying some. Thinking mostly. Remembering stuff about MI winters, which are physical and back breaking. Out here, winter is a figure of speech. Down here, it's something people refer to but have no frame of reference. In reality, winter is a state of being, not just a way to mark the passing of time.
Having spent most my life in northern states, I can recall many incidences of being snowed in - which IS a relative term, because as a child there is much to do when one is snowed "in." Usually the first thing you did was throw on your snow suit and moon boots and head outside to make igloos that your father could stand up in.
The last winter I spent in Michigan was the winter of 2007. It was one of the most difficult periods of my life. For a decade, I had been longing for an adventure, cursing Michigan for years, begging Lars to let me follow in the footsteps of Madonna and "get the Hell out of Michigan". For years, Lars and I debated about what would be best, how to meet the needs of our kids, etc. In mid-2006 we decided to make Michigan our home indefinitely. We sold our cute little blue starter home, and bought a big house that needed a ton of work. We enrolled Petra in an awesome little private school. We paid our dues to WUOM, the Ann Arbor NPR affiliate. We joined the Children's Museum. I got a great new job that I could handle, that didn't suck the life out of me and had the promise of lots of growth. Then January 22nd (?) of '07 Lars went to work at his pfarmaceutical research job, upon arrival he and all his colleagues were shuffled into conference rooms where a casually dressed prick told Lars that he would be losing his job along with 9,999 of his global colleagues. Just like that, the pfarmaceutical research site that developed the largest money making drug the world has ever known was being axed by lowly college business majors because the stockholders in the company were growing restless. Needless to say, there was a lot of anger. Up until this point, Michigan had been steadily facing job losses largely in part to the Big Three. The loss of the pfarmaceutical site was the start of a trend in cutting white collar positions. Today Michigan has the highest unemployment rate of any state in this country. The pfarma company tried to leave out the back door, but got caught red handed. Some people tried to placate us, "that's just business." But, it's different than that and it was hard not to take it very personally. Most family members said dumb stuff to us and offered very little support to Lars, who was struggling. Most of Lars' colleagues were really struggling too, we were definitely not the only ones who took it hard. I'd meet other pfarma spouses in the halls of the JCC (where many of us sent our kids for child care and extracurriculars), our eyes would meet tearfully and we'd shake our heads at each other. We had been sold a bunch of BS over the years that we were a big pfarma family, that we were valued by the organization, there were frequent team building exercises and family picnics sponsored by the company -- you know the type. It was a big betrayal. At this point, we had been in our new house for just 7-months. We were remodeling the kitchen on our own, the day pfarma announced their plans for the stockholders to the employees we had no plumbing in the kitchen and were down to the studs, in places you could see clear through to the basement. The stockholders still got screwed.
There were some big players in our recovery, though. My mom and stepdad were very there for us. Lars' dad never said any of the cheap lines, he always had an ear for his son and supported us in our complex decisions. Lars' grandparents called weekly to check in with their grandson and listened intently as Lars updated them, crying sometimes. Friends came out of the wood work, too. Thorne and Erica, I don't know how we would have made it. To this day, I can't talk about everything they did for us because it was so much and we needed it so badly. They literally came to our house one day and picked us up, brushed us off, and said "let's start here." Thorne came down from Detroit at least 3-times a week, when he wasn't out of the country, to get us through the rough patches. There was Mira and Vikas, who provided me with a shoulder to cry on and tenderly encouraged me to reach for the sunny side. Bill and Gina, our next door neighbors who grew up in the Depression and always had meaningful things to say to us. And of course, Mommela and her husband went from being acquaintances since the time that the girls were 6-weeks old to being vastly imporant, soul affirming in our well-beings. Another mommy to love my kids, which she did for us. I think what set all those people apart from the less supportive ones was that they are all MI folks and really understood what this huge change meant for us. Sadly, today many of them may be facing such decisions shortly.
During that rough time, the kids were in our bed at nigh quite a bit. They needed us and we needed them. We all decided together to accept a transfer from the pfarma company. Despite all our anger and hurt, we stuck with that company. It still astounds me today.
Anyway, the kids stayed in our bed at night for quite a while. We moved out here, mommy got a new job, we're in our third address, the kids started new schools, and eventually they stopped needing to sleep next to us at night. Very uncharacteristically, last night Petra braved the vertical Alpine-descent of her loft and tip-toed into our room where she snuggled down between Lars and me. Seeing her there reminded me of Michigan and snow storms. It reminded me of all that pain of believing that we had lost everything, of thinking that without all those people in our everyday lives that we couldn't go on, of how I believed that there was no where on Earth to live that was worthy of our children's presence like Ann Arbor was, of how I believed that I wasn't capable of making friends anymore, and how the hurt of leaving all those places and people that I especially love would be something I could never get over.
Most of those things are false, I recognize that even now as tears are running down my face, snot pouring out my nose, Lars standing behind me doing his best "oh, Kelly" routine -- I really miss sending Soren over to Bill and Gina's, how much I long for hugs and kisses from Mira, sharing the joys of our daughters' darling friendship with Mommela, having Thorne and Erica nearby as the friends who are just a phone call away. Of course, I miss the ease of our MI parents' proximity, close enough that they weren't too far away but far enough away that they didn't step on our toes. I miss Michigan springs (a blog topic in and of itself), I miss the Ann Arbor farmers' markets, I miss easy Ann Arbor liberalism, I miss walking to the super green library with its living roof that was just around the corner from our house, the whimsy of living in a city with a large collection of fairy doors, I miss all the gay and lesbian families, I miss all the non-white people, I miss all the Jews, I miss all the untrendy super beat up cars driven by premier medical researchers, I miss the really good restaurants, I miss vegetarians being a dime a dozen. The list could go on and on, but I've stopped crying so maybe I should take that as a sign.
The truth is, I'm willing to allow my amazing children to be sacrificial lambs to Southern California. California was given a great opportunity when Lars and I brought our kids here and I believe that someday, this little beach community that we live in and the wider community will in time become worthy of all that is my children. I have learned that while we left a lot behind, none of it was really lost because the people who were important to us then are still in our lives. I now know that I can get over that fear of meeting new people and go out on a limb and make friends. And I also know that I will never 'get over' leaving Ann Arbor, after all one just never 'leaves' Ann Arbor -- people who have moved away can concur, people who still live there shudder to think. Ann Arbor is an experience, sort of like Jimmy Hendrix, and it's just part of ya. We were lucky to live there and maybe the Ann Arbor gods saw fit for us to leave the comfort of that place and spread its seeds in diverse places so that others may also have a bit of the A2 experience. And so now, I think of us as ambassadors with a mission (here I am feeling a bit goofy) and my children are the brigadiers. Ann Arbor has enough people within its city limits doin' the right thing, that's why were out here . . . you know, to spread the word in places where the density of doin'-the-right-thingedness is less than it is in A2. Yep, uh huh.
All my children (both the two- and four-legged, fetal and non) are awake. Time to make a hearty, fall-in-Michigan breakfast (buckwheat pancakes that taste like tree bark with fall berries, or something to that effect) as I stand in my Brady Bunch-esque home listening to the sounds of the ocean fewer than 3-miles away and the sounds of helicopters from the 3 nearby military bases circling overhead.
I woke up in the dark and wee hours of this California morning, unable to fall back to sleep. Worrying some. Thinking mostly. Remembering stuff about MI winters, which are physical and back breaking. Out here, winter is a figure of speech. Down here, it's something people refer to but have no frame of reference. In reality, winter is a state of being, not just a way to mark the passing of time.
Having spent most my life in northern states, I can recall many incidences of being snowed in - which IS a relative term, because as a child there is much to do when one is snowed "in." Usually the first thing you did was throw on your snow suit and moon boots and head outside to make igloos that your father could stand up in.
The last winter I spent in Michigan was the winter of 2007. It was one of the most difficult periods of my life. For a decade, I had been longing for an adventure, cursing Michigan for years, begging Lars to let me follow in the footsteps of Madonna and "get the Hell out of Michigan". For years, Lars and I debated about what would be best, how to meet the needs of our kids, etc. In mid-2006 we decided to make Michigan our home indefinitely. We sold our cute little blue starter home, and bought a big house that needed a ton of work. We enrolled Petra in an awesome little private school. We paid our dues to WUOM, the Ann Arbor NPR affiliate. We joined the Children's Museum. I got a great new job that I could handle, that didn't suck the life out of me and had the promise of lots of growth. Then January 22nd (?) of '07 Lars went to work at his pfarmaceutical research job, upon arrival he and all his colleagues were shuffled into conference rooms where a casually dressed prick told Lars that he would be losing his job along with 9,999 of his global colleagues. Just like that, the pfarmaceutical research site that developed the largest money making drug the world has ever known was being axed by lowly college business majors because the stockholders in the company were growing restless. Needless to say, there was a lot of anger. Up until this point, Michigan had been steadily facing job losses largely in part to the Big Three. The loss of the pfarmaceutical site was the start of a trend in cutting white collar positions. Today Michigan has the highest unemployment rate of any state in this country. The pfarma company tried to leave out the back door, but got caught red handed. Some people tried to placate us, "that's just business." But, it's different than that and it was hard not to take it very personally. Most family members said dumb stuff to us and offered very little support to Lars, who was struggling. Most of Lars' colleagues were really struggling too, we were definitely not the only ones who took it hard. I'd meet other pfarma spouses in the halls of the JCC (where many of us sent our kids for child care and extracurriculars), our eyes would meet tearfully and we'd shake our heads at each other. We had been sold a bunch of BS over the years that we were a big pfarma family, that we were valued by the organization, there were frequent team building exercises and family picnics sponsored by the company -- you know the type. It was a big betrayal. At this point, we had been in our new house for just 7-months. We were remodeling the kitchen on our own, the day pfarma announced their plans for the stockholders to the employees we had no plumbing in the kitchen and were down to the studs, in places you could see clear through to the basement. The stockholders still got screwed.
There were some big players in our recovery, though. My mom and stepdad were very there for us. Lars' dad never said any of the cheap lines, he always had an ear for his son and supported us in our complex decisions. Lars' grandparents called weekly to check in with their grandson and listened intently as Lars updated them, crying sometimes. Friends came out of the wood work, too. Thorne and Erica, I don't know how we would have made it. To this day, I can't talk about everything they did for us because it was so much and we needed it so badly. They literally came to our house one day and picked us up, brushed us off, and said "let's start here." Thorne came down from Detroit at least 3-times a week, when he wasn't out of the country, to get us through the rough patches. There was Mira and Vikas, who provided me with a shoulder to cry on and tenderly encouraged me to reach for the sunny side. Bill and Gina, our next door neighbors who grew up in the Depression and always had meaningful things to say to us. And of course, Mommela and her husband went from being acquaintances since the time that the girls were 6-weeks old to being vastly imporant, soul affirming in our well-beings. Another mommy to love my kids, which she did for us. I think what set all those people apart from the less supportive ones was that they are all MI folks and really understood what this huge change meant for us. Sadly, today many of them may be facing such decisions shortly.
During that rough time, the kids were in our bed at nigh quite a bit. They needed us and we needed them. We all decided together to accept a transfer from the pfarma company. Despite all our anger and hurt, we stuck with that company. It still astounds me today.
Anyway, the kids stayed in our bed at night for quite a while. We moved out here, mommy got a new job, we're in our third address, the kids started new schools, and eventually they stopped needing to sleep next to us at night. Very uncharacteristically, last night Petra braved the vertical Alpine-descent of her loft and tip-toed into our room where she snuggled down between Lars and me. Seeing her there reminded me of Michigan and snow storms. It reminded me of all that pain of believing that we had lost everything, of thinking that without all those people in our everyday lives that we couldn't go on, of how I believed that there was no where on Earth to live that was worthy of our children's presence like Ann Arbor was, of how I believed that I wasn't capable of making friends anymore, and how the hurt of leaving all those places and people that I especially love would be something I could never get over.
Most of those things are false, I recognize that even now as tears are running down my face, snot pouring out my nose, Lars standing behind me doing his best "oh, Kelly" routine -- I really miss sending Soren over to Bill and Gina's, how much I long for hugs and kisses from Mira, sharing the joys of our daughters' darling friendship with Mommela, having Thorne and Erica nearby as the friends who are just a phone call away. Of course, I miss the ease of our MI parents' proximity, close enough that they weren't too far away but far enough away that they didn't step on our toes. I miss Michigan springs (a blog topic in and of itself), I miss the Ann Arbor farmers' markets, I miss easy Ann Arbor liberalism, I miss walking to the super green library with its living roof that was just around the corner from our house, the whimsy of living in a city with a large collection of fairy doors, I miss all the gay and lesbian families, I miss all the non-white people, I miss all the Jews, I miss all the untrendy super beat up cars driven by premier medical researchers, I miss the really good restaurants, I miss vegetarians being a dime a dozen. The list could go on and on, but I've stopped crying so maybe I should take that as a sign.
The truth is, I'm willing to allow my amazing children to be sacrificial lambs to Southern California. California was given a great opportunity when Lars and I brought our kids here and I believe that someday, this little beach community that we live in and the wider community will in time become worthy of all that is my children. I have learned that while we left a lot behind, none of it was really lost because the people who were important to us then are still in our lives. I now know that I can get over that fear of meeting new people and go out on a limb and make friends. And I also know that I will never 'get over' leaving Ann Arbor, after all one just never 'leaves' Ann Arbor -- people who have moved away can concur, people who still live there shudder to think. Ann Arbor is an experience, sort of like Jimmy Hendrix, and it's just part of ya. We were lucky to live there and maybe the Ann Arbor gods saw fit for us to leave the comfort of that place and spread its seeds in diverse places so that others may also have a bit of the A2 experience. And so now, I think of us as ambassadors with a mission (here I am feeling a bit goofy) and my children are the brigadiers. Ann Arbor has enough people within its city limits doin' the right thing, that's why were out here . . . you know, to spread the word in places where the density of doin'-the-right-thingedness is less than it is in A2. Yep, uh huh.
All my children (both the two- and four-legged, fetal and non) are awake. Time to make a hearty, fall-in-Michigan breakfast (buckwheat pancakes that taste like tree bark with fall berries, or something to that effect) as I stand in my Brady Bunch-esque home listening to the sounds of the ocean fewer than 3-miles away and the sounds of helicopters from the 3 nearby military bases circling overhead.
3 comments:
We miss you, too, but I'm also very glad for you that SoCal is settling in and it's not as awful as it was in your weensy little temporary rental with a dog dealing with her travel issues, kids a little shell shocked, and you feeling so much alone. Remember that first Zingerman's package? "...They make good friends in CA, too, you'll find them." I'm glad you're finding them. Oh, and remember, you're second-in-line to be stuck with our kid if we get taken out by a bus, so you're stuck with us for the long haul. For that, we're grateful!
I'm cracking up! Our parental controls has you blocked as "Adult" content!
I can agree that that life changes are not exactly easy. Jason and I have definitely been through our fair share during our 8 1/2 years together, but I feel like we've come out stronger because of them. If there was one thing that my mom has taught me, it's not to dwell in the past but to look towards the future with a bright perspective. I try my best to stay positive and believe that all of our hard times have happened for a reason. Keep your chin up Kel! We all love you and are always cheering for you.
Post a Comment