|Mo and Alan playing pirates in HMAS Hammock|
When we first moved to Carlton I was surprised to find myself explaining to a friend that I felt less isolated than I had in Glenmore Park; I’d never realised how disconnected I’d felt out there. I loved our place, and the people we met and the memories we made out there: I was expecting to crumple in a distraught heap after we moved out, and even took photos to add to the soppy love letter blog post I’d inevitably be writing. We’d lived there for two years! Hazel was born in the lounge room! The neighbours were friendly and kind; the family across the road brought us over a copy of Metallica lullabies to welcome our new baby, and Kath next door was exactly the type of neighbour you’d want living in a house whose balcony comes scarily close to your toilet window (i.e. lovely, and slightly deaf). But after the move, my crumpling had little to do with leaving that house.
The other day Alan told me he missed having people over regularly; we had two groups meeting for Bible studies at our old place, one on Wednesday nights and one on Sundays. I realised (though I enjoyed those groups and looked forward to them each week) that having people over regularly is one of the things I miss least. That and the redback spiders. I do miss the backyard, and having a washing line approximately 13 steps from the laundry. I miss the hammock. Alan had always wanted one, so when he heard that Moses and I had been talking about them and that I was wanting to show Mo what they looked like, Alan shot out the door for Bunnings before I had time to say, “I meant on the internet.” I miss being able to park in our own driveway, and not having to walk up any stairs to get from the car to the front door. I miss not having to worry about Moses disturbing anyone outside of our family by racing down the hallway at 6:30am. I miss the food waste bins! I still feel guilty pangs as I scrape food scraps into our regular bin, and we’ve been here 4 months now.
All of those things were nice, but I felt no urge to write them letters when we left, which surprised me – surprises me still, actually. This new place feels more like our last apartment did, which felt more like home, and more like me. I don’t know why; maybe I still don’t feel grown up enough for a dishwasher and a garden shed? I find all of this really interesting, partly because I’m still not sure why I find this so interesting. I was hoping that now that I’d reached the conclusion end of this post it would become clear to me, and I’d be able to say something profound. But no.