I find it interesting that the actual transaction for selling a house is called closing. When the front door to my parents’ house—the one that anchored our family over four decades—closed to us, it started me thinking about other doors I’ve known. In recent years, we’ve gone from a midwest victorian door to a northwest contemporary door to an English castle door to our Scottish Hobbit door. Recently, I closed another door, when we left the Hobbit House to move to a needy cottage on a Scottish island.
The truth is that most of those changes have led to wonderful new friends, life-changing experiences, and incredible memories. Generally, I’m a glass-half-full girl, so I’m grateful for all the places those doors have taken me. But I’ve learned a few things along the way.
Close the door.
Leave the pieces that weigh too much. Really. I’m getting older and my back isn’t all it used to be, so moving with just the things I’d grab if the house was about to burn down (the dog, the laptop, Grandmother’s silver soup ladle, and the hard drive with the stored photos I keep swearing I’ll upload to the cloud) is freedom.
Open the door.
Take the pieces that don’t weigh a thing. Really. I’m getting older and my head isn’t all it used to be, so taking only the memories (good friends, good times, good years) is riches.
Use the right door.
It’s okay to be human. And that means I cry when I miss friends, swear when I get lost (or don’t know which dry cleaner to use, or I have to find a new place to do my hair, or it’s Thursday), and vow catastrophic vengeance the like of which the new city has never encountered if I have to go one more day without getting the internet installed.
And finally, if one more door closes on a piece of my past I used to call home…
For the love of all that’s holy, don’t let me write another one of these maudlin, cliche-choked schmaltzy blog posts.
Barb Taub 
Saying goodbye is never easy but new adventures and friends definitely help make up for it. I enjoyed this schmaltzy side of you.
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Thanks, Tric! I promise to keep it under control though.
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Love this! A perspective I hadn’t thought of when I moved.
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I hope the move (ie the broadband install) went well!
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Of course it didn’t.
I’ve never had a move yet that went well.
Now, if you have (or know anyone who has) you should write a how-to book for people like me. Please!!!
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Well you’re a multi-layered person like the rest of us, Barb; a schmaltzy, (word i’ve never written let alone used before – we from the North of England – even after being transported to Wales for forty years-would call it soppy) isn’t a bad thing!
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Schmaltzy is a rather difficult word to write. Soppy is much easier.
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Yup, that’s me. More layers than an onion, and a slightly New York vocab to boot. Wee apologies to my new neighbors!
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Love the door collage! And the sentiments. I don’t think you’re schmaltzy at all, just human. Hugs!
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Yes…but you actually LIKE to move.
(Hugs much appreciated though.)
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Some good advice there, Barb. Like you (and Arthur Dent), though, I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
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MWA! I knew you had to be out there somewhere. Now, some people think The Godfather has all the answers, but of course, we know the truth: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy holds the answer to everything. (42)
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Do you suppose there’s a link between “I never could get the hang of Thursdays” and “Thank God it’s Friday”? 🙂
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42?
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😀
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Just love it, Barb. (Your posts always hit the spot, bang-on!)
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And your comment just makes my day! (As usual.)
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Reblogged this on Anita Dawes & Jaye Marie.
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You can be a schmaltzy as you like, anytime. Being human is very good you know…
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You sound like my Great-Aunt Goldie! (Do you by any chance have some chicken soup with matzah balls to go with that excellent advice?)
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Soup I can do, but what the hell are matzah balls?
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Matzah Ball Soup is basically Jewish penicillin. You take ground up matzah (the unleavened flatbread we eat at Passover) and mix it with egg and a bit of salt, shape it into balls, and boil it in the very best chicken soup your mother ever taught you to make. You have to be aware that EVERY other matzah ball soup on the planet other than your family recipe will produce matzah balls that could double for golf balls, only heavier. Your family’s matzah balls, however, must be firmly praised as being light, fluffy, and able to cure anything from a hangnail to terminal illness.
Here’s a popular Passover joke:
Arthur Miller takes his new wife Marilyn Monroe to his mother’s apartment for her first Passover seder. On the way home, Miller asks Marilyn if she enjoyed it.
“Darling, I loved it all,” she says, “all your family together, the ritual, the prayers, the food—especially the food.”
“I’m delighted,” says Miller, “but tell me, sweetheart, what dish did you like best?”
“I loved your mother’s chicken soup,” Marilyn says. “So clear, so golden, so flavorful.”
“And the matzo balls?” he asks. “What did you think of my mother’s matzo balls?”
“Oh, Arthur, I especially loved those matzo balls. How ever did your mother get them to be so light, so perfectly round, so tasty? They were absolutely scrumptious.”
“My mother will be pleased to hear it,” Miller says.
“In fact, I’ll write your mother a note tomorrow about her fabulous matzo balls. I just loved those matzo balls to death. But tell me, Arthur, what do you Jews do with the rest of the matzo?”
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I won’t forget what they are now…
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I rather enjoyed this glimpse of your schmalzy side – and I loved the Miller and Marilyn Passover joke.
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Why thank you! (My four kids would be rolling eight eyes at my joke…)
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Well, I maybe rolled my eyes a little but I also laughed.
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More soppy, please… 😉
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