When we left Lancaster County we experienced a bit of a "good riddance" moment. We had felt trapped where we were for some time. We lived in a place with few amenities. The culture was conservative, which is fine, but it was so conservative that it didn't even seem to allow room for debate, much less conversation. Our family and friends were spread all over the county, and because we were the outliers in that far northern tip, it seemed that we were always the ones making an effort to journey to them. Perhaps I am being unfair in my last statement, but we were always running-- always burning gas in an effort to have social interaction. We also watched tons of Netflix movies during our tenure in Reinholds because we often didn't have the energy to make the hour plus commitment to the round trip commute with kids to do any of the things we wanted to do or see any of the people we wanted to see.
I won't go so far as to say we were miserable during those years in Reinholds. We were in the thick of childrearing and that accounts for some of the battle-weary look in our eyes, but it also accounts for much of the joy. Our kids, and their activities, were a focus in a way that they--mobile, graduated, and semi-self-sufficient--are not here in Arden. If you have been reading this blog, then I think it goes without saying how being in Arden has awakened us in ways we could not imagine. We are thriving here in Utopia.
So, when we have to make that hour-and-a-half drive back to Lancaster County, it sometimes feels as though we are being sucked back through a vortex to black-and-white Kansas after having been to the Emerald City. And we aren't as excited at the prospect of coming home as Dorothy is. The difference is that Dorothy wants to go home; home is her quest. We, on the other hand, get summoned back to the L.C. for events and gatherings that are not our call. Our son is there. Our parents are there. My sister's family. Mark's brother's family. Extended family. We are back for holidays, weddings, rites of passage. Recently, I have had multiple friends take me to task for not making the effort to visit them and spend the day. None of my friends seem to overlap. Girls' night out and the proverbial killing two birds with one stone is not really an option. Each friend wants a day to themselves. The problem is not that I don't go to Lancaster County. (I will be there four times this month.) It is that when I go, I have to rotate through all the people I want to see, have to see, and still not see everyone who is important to us.
And then there is the fact that I feel my energy change when I go back. Arden feeds me. Though I don't have the confines of a job, I am effective and I get lots of meaningful work done here. Sometimes, I feel as though Lancaster County sucks the life right out of me. We had some tough years there. I had some lonely years there, feeling isolated--socially, spiritually, and artistically. I am making the journey back a lot more often than I would like. I don't get a chance to miss the parts that were good when we were there. I often feel resentful, like someone who is being forced awake in the middle of a wonderful dream for something as mundane as a dentist appointment. I wrestle with that feeling of dissatisfaction, because I do really want to see the people from our past. The one thing I don't respond well to is guilt, especially in its subtle forms. That shuts me down more completely than a bank on a national holiday. And I don't respond well to those who think I need to make the allowances because mine is the more flexible schedule. Those who think that have not seen my schedule. If I am coming to see you, I am taking a day off of my work, just as you would have to take a day off of your work to come see me.
I know it isn't realistic for friends and family to visit me in Arden all the time. I am happy that my son and my in-laws make the journey down as often as they do. That helps. Other friends have journeyed to see us, too, which gives us an indication of the strength of our bonds. It is very easy to take people off our list of must-see when we are back if they have never made the effort to come see us. If we have had a past association with you--believe me, you are welcome hither to our house in Arden at a moment's notice. We have practically pulled former church acquaintances into our home and forced them to sup when we found out they were coming down for a concert at the Arden Gild Hall.
I ask patience and empathy, and maybe a little forgiveness from our Lancaster County friends and family. We are still working out the rhythms and politics, the emotions and dog logostics of our visits back to the home country. And Lancaster County for all its contradictions and complexities will always be our home country and our North Star. The place we come when the native tribe calls us back.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Monday, April 6, 2015
Easter Trinity
Living in Delaware, we live at least an hour and half from our family, which now includes our son. We used to live in the same county as most of our relatives. Going for a holiday dinner requires a different kind of finesse than before. While we used to have to herd our kids into the car, we now have to plan for what to do with our dog because a accepting an invitation to a holiday dinner means we are gone all day. We are not far enough away that overnighters are required for anything but the staggered events at Christmas. We do, however, live far enough away that we try to stack our visitations one on top of another until our day resembles a triathlon. If we are driving three hours round trip, we will see as many people as possible. In terms of Easter, this meant two-and-a-half hour stints at three places, with pug in tow. He rode in the back seat and cried for three-quarters of the journey with Mark yelling at him for half. Note to self: bring earbuds along for holiday car rides.
We dropped Eli off at Mark's parents, where he is more at home with Lilly, their dog, and since we were not getting in our Sunday morning hike, we walked the two miles to my parents' house. We held hands as we walked and marveled at the changes to our hometown. An addition to the Rec Center, a drainage ditch where Mark used to play field games at the pool, a skateboard park behind that. It is a beautiful day, and we snacked on a bag of cookies that Mark nicked from his parents' house even though we are about to have two full dinners in the span of three hours.
My parents' house is pure chaos. Eight of the ten grandchildren, ages seven months to twenty years, are accounted for. Maren, our daughter, is in New York. My eleven-year old nephew is with a friend at Disney World. My dad is beside himself trying to locate seating for the entire franchise. My parents put out the invitation to Easter dinner within the last week. I am not sure they expected that all four of their kids would agree to come. Bowls of strangely sour jelly beans are set out with the paper plates and plasticware. The menu is Pennsylvania Dutch and includes Ham Loaf (a favorite of mine even though I dislike ham) and pineapple filling among the spread of other of my mother's go-to dishes. My sister-in-law makes up a separate meal for my niece who suffers from food allergies. The talk is boisterous and animated while we pass the baby around like a hot potato. My dad must pray over his food in his usual manner, but one in which I find to be less about the thanks part and more about his dominion. I realize that is my personal issue. Amen.
The news of the day is that my brother-in-law has just resigned his post as Warwick's head basketball coach, a position he held for eight-years and that my father held for twenty years prior to that. Looking around the room, four of my dad's former players are in attendance in the form of his sons and sons-in-law, including my husband. All the togetherness is a bit much for some of us. Jonah puts himself in time-out on a faraway couch to get away from it all. My sister, brother-in-law, niece, and I take the baby for a walk to put her to sleep. Mark takes the menfolk out in a spin in his new hybrid vehicle which Jonah had driven over from Mark's parents' house. The car is so new that I have not even driven it yet. We just have enough time for a little pretzel salad when we all return. My mother makes pretzel salad for every event, and we all guzzle it down. I do, too, even knowing that my lemon sponge pies are going untouched and that meal number two is upon us. I should have known better than to have gone up against the almighty pretzel salad.
Dinner number two is far more relaxed. Just nine of us around a dining room table with actual plates and silverware. My mother-in-law has made ham and raisin sauce, which only she and Mark's brother will eat. They have also made a chicken or a turkey. I don't know. I pass on the meat because I have had my protein in the preferred form of ham loaf. I serve up the pierogi lasagne we brought. It is a new recipe which puts potatoes, cheddar cheese, and sautéed onions between layers of lasagna noodles. It is good and and it is hefty, but with my mother-in-law's fresh cole slaw it strikes a perfect balance. The boys, young and old, fight over the homemade crescent rolls which show up and disappear at every special occasion. I'm almost glad that I prefer a crustier bread. Like I need any more calories--or a black eye for trying to come between the Wood men and those rolls.
We dropped Eli off at Mark's parents, where he is more at home with Lilly, their dog, and since we were not getting in our Sunday morning hike, we walked the two miles to my parents' house. We held hands as we walked and marveled at the changes to our hometown. An addition to the Rec Center, a drainage ditch where Mark used to play field games at the pool, a skateboard park behind that. It is a beautiful day, and we snacked on a bag of cookies that Mark nicked from his parents' house even though we are about to have two full dinners in the span of three hours.
My parents' house is pure chaos. Eight of the ten grandchildren, ages seven months to twenty years, are accounted for. Maren, our daughter, is in New York. My eleven-year old nephew is with a friend at Disney World. My dad is beside himself trying to locate seating for the entire franchise. My parents put out the invitation to Easter dinner within the last week. I am not sure they expected that all four of their kids would agree to come. Bowls of strangely sour jelly beans are set out with the paper plates and plasticware. The menu is Pennsylvania Dutch and includes Ham Loaf (a favorite of mine even though I dislike ham) and pineapple filling among the spread of other of my mother's go-to dishes. My sister-in-law makes up a separate meal for my niece who suffers from food allergies. The talk is boisterous and animated while we pass the baby around like a hot potato. My dad must pray over his food in his usual manner, but one in which I find to be less about the thanks part and more about his dominion. I realize that is my personal issue. Amen.
The news of the day is that my brother-in-law has just resigned his post as Warwick's head basketball coach, a position he held for eight-years and that my father held for twenty years prior to that. Looking around the room, four of my dad's former players are in attendance in the form of his sons and sons-in-law, including my husband. All the togetherness is a bit much for some of us. Jonah puts himself in time-out on a faraway couch to get away from it all. My sister, brother-in-law, niece, and I take the baby for a walk to put her to sleep. Mark takes the menfolk out in a spin in his new hybrid vehicle which Jonah had driven over from Mark's parents' house. The car is so new that I have not even driven it yet. We just have enough time for a little pretzel salad when we all return. My mother makes pretzel salad for every event, and we all guzzle it down. I do, too, even knowing that my lemon sponge pies are going untouched and that meal number two is upon us. I should have known better than to have gone up against the almighty pretzel salad.
Dinner number two is far more relaxed. Just nine of us around a dining room table with actual plates and silverware. My mother-in-law has made ham and raisin sauce, which only she and Mark's brother will eat. They have also made a chicken or a turkey. I don't know. I pass on the meat because I have had my protein in the preferred form of ham loaf. I serve up the pierogi lasagne we brought. It is a new recipe which puts potatoes, cheddar cheese, and sautéed onions between layers of lasagna noodles. It is good and and it is hefty, but with my mother-in-law's fresh cole slaw it strikes a perfect balance. The boys, young and old, fight over the homemade crescent rolls which show up and disappear at every special occasion. I'm almost glad that I prefer a crustier bread. Like I need any more calories--or a black eye for trying to come between the Wood men and those rolls.
We all call Maren from around the table and joke that it is like our Christmas Eve calls to Grandma Pat in Michigan where we all have to make small talk and fight over who gets to ask about the weather. I take a walk (#3) with Mark's brother's wife, Tammy, with whom I once trained for and ran the Chicago marathon years ago. We have lots of catching up to do. It is so good when family members are friends. I count myself lucky in this regard many times over. Dessert after this walk is assorted cheesecake. Again, my sad lemon sponge pie waits in the wings, but I know that Jonah will take care to polish it off during the week. That comforts me. There are very few treats I can bring him that he doesn't already get living at Grandma and Grandpa's house.
Our third and final stop is to our best friends' house where we have our wine. They bring out the good stuff for us now that we live far away. We sit and catch up. The kids, who have not eaten in a while come up--starving. I make them fried sweet bologna sandwiches which they have never had. I used to cook a lot in our friends' kitchen. As veterinarians, they would work late on Friday nights when we used to get together. I had my afternoons free, so I would cook dinner even if we were meeting at their house. It is nostalgic to cook here, even if it is just frying up some lunchmeat. Our two-and-half hour allotment stretches into three hours here. Monday morning seems so far away when you are enjoying a Sunday night with old friends.
I nod off on the car ride home. Fresh air, wine, and heavy food have done me in. Even the dog is silent on his blanket in the back seat. Mark squeezes my hand. This is our new normal holiday regime, I tell myself. I am fine with that.
Our third and final stop is to our best friends' house where we have our wine. They bring out the good stuff for us now that we live far away. We sit and catch up. The kids, who have not eaten in a while come up--starving. I make them fried sweet bologna sandwiches which they have never had. I used to cook a lot in our friends' kitchen. As veterinarians, they would work late on Friday nights when we used to get together. I had my afternoons free, so I would cook dinner even if we were meeting at their house. It is nostalgic to cook here, even if it is just frying up some lunchmeat. Our two-and-half hour allotment stretches into three hours here. Monday morning seems so far away when you are enjoying a Sunday night with old friends.
I nod off on the car ride home. Fresh air, wine, and heavy food have done me in. Even the dog is silent on his blanket in the back seat. Mark squeezes my hand. This is our new normal holiday regime, I tell myself. I am fine with that.
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