The value of a value

Somehow, I found myself reading this opinion piece about the economy over the weekend. It must have been one of those rabbit hole situations, because I can't say I remember going over to CNN's website, but then there I was.

The essay sparked some horrendous comments from both sides of the political spectrum, enough so that I hesitated to link to it. I'm not at all interested in arguing about who is responsible for getting us here. I will say that though I fall way left of center, it seems to me that the situation has reached the point where we need to be willing cut precious social programs AND raise taxes on the highest income bracket. We may well be past the point of an either/or approach. And as for how we got here, why argue the philosophy behind the construction of the ship while the boat is sinking? Get as many people on the lifeboats as possible, we can figure that out later.

But on to the meaningful stuff. The part of the essay that struck me was the bit about the actual value of money.

Many years have passed since the dollar was backed by gold. Instead, the value we assign to our currency represents a measure of our faith, what we believe it to be worth. This has never been more true than now. Often the value only appears a number on a screen, up then down, in our hands and then out before we've even touched it. Almost a figment of our collective imagination, and yet we spend a large number of our waking hours working to get at it.

But I don't want to chase after something that doesn't exist. I want to pursue real things. Sure, you say, but we need money to get those things. Having money often clears the obstacles. Right. That is the paradox isn't?

Still, I am wondering if a little philosophy change might help, even if it just comes down to semantics. Like the travel experience I want to have is the focus instead of the trip itself, the end goal now twice removed from the money part. I want to live in my neighborhood because of the amazing people. What, besides buying a house here, can secure that? Maintaining these relationships if I have to move down the road a bit. Continuing to rent this house might do it too. So it could be about getting to the heart of whatever it is that I want and sticking to that. And the big part - being open to whatever else there is to get me there.

Moving to Boston on one income has been a stretch for us. On top of that we picked an expensive area. We chose it because of the schools and the 95 commute and the close access to the subway. We wanted those things because of our values - education, leisure time, and access to culture. Of course, all of that comes with a price. An actual dollar amount. So it isn't easy. It is something that stays on my mind. It has also caused me to think about money (and how to get a bigger chunk of it) more than I have in years.

But this money as a theory thing has me wanting to shift my focus. To stop zeroing in on the finances. To move on to thinking about things that have real value. Things that actually exist.

Luck o' the Irish

Boston has a fairly large Irish population, almost 20% I think. St. Patricks Day is next week and the celebration here draws a huge crowd. It has been raining a ton this week and the approaching holiday seems fitting since things have felt very Irish lately - a little gloomy, damp, and moody.

We Americans glom on to the idea of St. Patricks Day because there is a party involved, much the same way we celebrate Cinco De Mayo. But still, there is something to be said for the Irish mystique. I find myself so attracted to the idea of Ireland, the stark countryside and the people, a culture that seems to be all about the beauty in the bleak. Not to mention the beer drinking.

I have been listening to Mumford and Sons a good bit, and in particular the newly released The Cave. Their songs make me want to find myself a nice little cabin to hide out in. I'll chop my own wood and wear green knee high wellies and drink whiskey as soon as it's dark - which means all day when it is raining like this.

Desert

My writing class assignment this week is to write a transformation story, so I am writing a short story called Desert about a woman turning into sand. She feels isolated and alone and in the end is very happy to become sand. Happy stuff.

I've had the desert on my mind a great deal lately. As I peek (or should I say torture myself) at the the weather reports from Phoenix, warm and sunny for days on end, I am so amazed at the contrast in my life between this year and last. For the most part, I am okay with the winter weather, but wow, what a winter this is turning out to be.

Boston so buried in snow that it is hard to get around. The streets are narrow, the parking lots crowded with plowed snow. We've been chipping away at the sheets of ice constantly forming over the steps outside of our front door. On one side of our front yard, the snow bank collapsed into the sidewalk so the pile is more than five feet tall, and will now be that way until late March.

It could be isolating - desert like - to be stranded in all of this, but my friends here are a hearty bunch of gals. They throw on snow boots and bring over wine late at night. They drive across town, even in the "wintery mix" (two words I have come to dislike more than the term nor'easter), to have coffee. They know when I am alone and make sure that I am not.

So it turns out that the woman turning to sand is not me. And what I am writing is fiction.

Home

Whenever someone finds out we're from the south and that we relocated to Boston by way of Phoenix we get the same sort of thing- a look, something close to sympathy but with a little flash of snark, and the question, "so, how do you like it?"

I know what they are getting at. Yeah, there is the weather, and the traffic, and the cost of living that teeters on almost unaffordable, but still, the truth is, I love it.

I really love it.

We've moved around a good bit in the last few years and I am well aware of the fact that you take yourself wherever you go. In other words, the scenery changes, but the day to day is often the same. You always bring the baggage with you and despite best efforts to cram everything into a carry-on, the stuff you drag from place to place only gets heavier and more unwieldy. You can't simply move to a new place and start over.

Yet somehow, I am finding this change to be different. I feel a sense of belonging, of right-ness with my geography. It is something I have never experienced, a special and unexpected gift. It is like I found myself on a map. I am still the same, but here, in Boston, I am better at being me.

Relax already!

Somewhere in the process of moving across the country with two kids in tow (me, mostly on my own) and a crazy work travel schedule (Hubs, mostly on his own), Hubs and I forgot how to have fun together.

This year, we've resolved, if you want to call it that, to change things. First up, cross country ski lessons. After Christmas we went out and splurged on the gear. Last night we had our first lesson together followed by a late bite to eat nearby. We had such a good time, laughing and talking about the experience. It really felt like a date. We were having so much fun, in fact, that Hubs left his Blackberry in the car when we went into the restaurant. Seriously.

This morning I expected to be sore, but oddly enough I feel great, except that my right hand is a little tender from the death grip I had on my ski pole. The instructor kept telling us to relax our hands and hold the poles gently. After a good bit of shuffling back and forth on a mostly level track, I finally got a feel for the motion of the skis, but apparently I need to work on that relaxing thing.

More lessons on letting go. Ah the irony.

Cheers

Last night I went to a short story reading at Bukowski's in Cambridge (no, I am not linking it because you people have ADD already, so stay with me, it's a bar, and maybe, I am a little lazy). There was a contest, which I did not enter, but a few of my friends had. The first place winner got $2500. The third place winner got steak knives.

We got there to find a line outside. It felt like some kind of club situation or a concert, except the people in line had on the chunky glasses and the quirky haircuts and a few were reading, you know, books, while waiting to get into a bar. The reading started with the third place winner. It was an irreverent bit about a guy who had mistakingly researched the wrong person's bio for a writing pitch. Afterward he finished reading it, the crowd roared. They cheered. They clinked glasses. Over a short story.

There were two more really good stories. More cheering. Seriously, I though maybe the Sox were on (I know, wrong season) or the Pats (possible but, on a Tuesday night?). People were that excited. It was crazy.

There should be more events where people scream over good writing. That, and I love Boston.

Down, from head to toe

I've started coat shopping. I have coats of course, but not real coats. I have boots, but not real boots. And my cute knit Anthro hat? I am pretty sure it won't get me past November.

So the process has begun. To be warm enough, I am pretty sure I am going to have to get a little ugly. The first trip through the coat racks didn't go so well, I left the store with a lovely calf length gray leopard wool dress coat and a pretty pair of red gloves.

Not very practical, but so fabulous. And I will need it for a fancy night out, right? You know, because with the two kids, I have a ton of those on the horizon.

I might need a winter-vention.

Happy Holidays?

This week the temperature has been in the mid-fifties during the day and in the high forties at night, just like Thanksgiving in Georgia or Christmas in Arizona. I have a strange urge to pop a turkey in the oven.

This will be our first winter in Boston and we've been trying to be proper New Englanders about the weather. That means no complaining (early on anyway, I hear in March all bets are off), and no turning on the heat this early. Or so we thought. After a quick poll of the neighborhood, turns out everyone turned on the heat two days ago. Why didn't we get the memo?

We have radiators and it only took a few minutes to take the chill out of the air. I love radiator heat. Love it so much I could hug it. Except I can't hug it, of course, because ouch. But seriously, radiant heat is toasty. I am sure there are some practical reasons why everyone has gotten rid of it. Like those horrible glare-ish light bulbs we all have to switch to by 2014 (and I might be hoarding the old bulbs, but that's another post), forced air heat is probably more efficient somehow, but the old fashioned way just feels nicer. And as a bonus, the pipes heat up the basement.

I took a peek at the forecast and it looks like it isn't going to warm up again. Until March. Or April. Maybe I'll pretend it's one long ongoing holiday season.

Cookie anyone?

Boston is my new boyfriend

It's been chilly and rainy and this city is completely oblivious to the fact that it is indeed the middle of June. But none of it matters because I can already tell that I have a huge crush on Boston.

Over the weekend we took the kids on the subway and did a little touristy trek through downtown Boston. Little Guy was, of course, enamored with the train ride and completely cute about it. For him, that would have been enough. For Girlie, it was the swan boat ride in the Public Garden, hokey as it gets, but totally sweet at the same time. Hubs and I just couldn't stop smiling over their heads because wow, we live here.

So we're not living in the city, but I am so happy with where we landed - Newton is around ten miles outside of downtown Boston and on the subway line. It is a made up of small villages, each with its own "center" with tiny restaurants and little specialty shops tucked into every corner. The small shopping takes some getting used to, especially coming from the giant stores in Phoenix, but once you find what you are looking for, it is a completely satisfying experience buying from someone that owns the place and has probably been there forever. Today I bought a Father's Day gift for Hubs from a place we can walk to from our temporary apartment and should he need to get it repaired? No worries, he can just bring it in, the guy does it right there.

And people walk everywhere. In Phoenix people don't walk farther than their mailboxes.

Of course, the winter will be the biggest downside, so I will have to reserve judgement until we get through our first one. But I saw a little sign for ice skating while we were in the city, so I have a feeling it may be two years before the romance starts to fizzle.

Grocery nirvana

Since Little Guy has been such a joy to shop with, Hubs suggested that I make a big grocery run today while he hung out with the kids. I hopped in the car, selected the grocery category on the GPS, and randomly picked a name nearby.

And hit the jackpot.

When I pulled up, the store didn't look like much. A little dated on the outside, smallish parking lot, weird front entrance. Eh, I thought, I guess I'll give it a try. Turns out the store is fabulous. All of my favorite products - plus oodles of extras, like a "meatball" mix of ground beef with the tiniest bit of sausage added in, really good breads, organic snacky stuff, and not too pricey.

The best part?

At the end of the trip, they send your purchases down a conveyor belt and you pull your car around under the store where a guy loads them right into your trunk. Oh sweet heaven.

I'm starting to love this place.

Tears at Trader Joe's

So I cried at Trader Joe's today.

I'll just pause a moment to let that sink in.

The time change and stress of moving has us all exhausted. The kids didn't fall asleep until sometime close to midnight last night and Little Guy woke up and actually climbed out of his bed at 3:30 AM. So we're all a little delirious and Little Guy is having some sort of tantrum about every 2.5 seconds.

Under normal circumstances I wouldn't step foot into a public space with two cranky kids, but our cupboard is bare and we need at least the basics to get by. So we're cruising through the grocery store at warp speed, I am just grabbing things randomly off the shelves, Little Guy is flipping out, Girlie is "helping", and some dear woman is trying her best to help me. We get to the check-out with milk, juice, and some PB & J fixings in the cart, plus a few random things that should be good for dinner (except not together) and Little Guy starts grabbing at the bell, tossing stuff out of the cart, and THEN he turns to me and yells at the top of his voice

"Mommy you are stupid."

Yep, I cried.

I'm going to give it a few weeks before I hit that store again. Hopefully no one will remember me.

Same old same old

This marks my first official resident of greater metro Boston post. We arrived in the city a few hours ago to light drizzle and a snag at the car rental place. What, no parade? Ah well, I guess the city isn't as excited to meet us as we are to meet it.

Tomorrow's to do list is filled with exciting Bostonish things like stocking our place with groceries and the dog supplies we left behind. Whole foods and Petco, and a swoop through CVS.

So much is different. So much is the same.

Boston Bound

Tomorrow we'll make our final trip to Boston. Four suitcases, two computer bags, two kids, a stroller, the dog, and a couple of carry-on bags stuffed with snacks, videos, and a tissue or two.

When we moved to Phoenix almost exactly two years ago, it felt like we had landed on the moon. I knew it was the desert, but I couldn't quite take it in - the rock filled yards, the scrubby landscape, and the iconic cactus stiffly standing guard over the whole strange scene. There were palm trees everywhere, but not a drop of water in sight. I would soon learn that the water could be found filling the pools behind the tall backyard fences, and the palm trees were not native, but from somewhere else, just like us.

I arrived here completely sleep deprived, stuck in an over year long jag of insomnia. But in Phoenix, it seemed to make sense to go to bed late and wake early, since the sun came up so blazingly bright and I had to get moving to beat the heat of the day anyway. It's strange, but you can see the moon in Phoenix from very early in the evening until long into the morning. In the middle of the night it hangs gloriously close in a dark cloudless sky. By the fall of that year, I started sleeping a little more, and then in the winter the insomnia started to go away entirely. Had the desert healed me somehow? Had the moon hung around just a little longer to supervise?

We'll miss so many things, like our favorite eats at Barrio Cafe, and Lola, drinks at Camelback Inn and the Rokerij, and shopping in Scottsdale. The way Phoenix is big and small at the same time. The kids will no doubt miss the zoo and the fantastic parks. Hubs will miss running the mountain trails and biking along the canal. We'll all long for the famous Phoenix winters, and the days when we didn't have to remember raincoats or struggle with snowboots. It goes without saying that we'll miss our dear friends, both old and new. And I will miss my writing community.

Little Guy only understands our move to Boston as a vague concept, but Girlie has been struggling with the idea, alternating between excitement and despair. I remind her how it felt to move here, how she didn't even know how to swim when we arrived. I tell her she'll make new friends. I tell myself I'll find new restaurants and shops. And friends.

And it's true. We'll all be just fine in Boston. And I know that the moon that rises over Boston is the same one that hangs over Phoenix.

But still, it will be missing a little of that desert magic. And so will I.

So now we're even

The other day I was signing up for some info in our new area and realized I didn't know our zip code. I did a quick zip code search on the USPS website and turns out it is 02468.

I don't know if numbers mean anything, but these numbers have to be the best zip code ever.

Simple, straightforward and even, there is something so balanced and right about them.

Let's hope it's a sign.

Moving

So Girlie is home with strep today. She started antibiotics and is already feeling a little better, but fingers crossed that Little Guy doesn't get it too. Yes, Hubs is still gone.

We're still negotiating the inspection part of the sale of our house. We're waiting for the final numbers on the negative equity we have in our house. Try to put a positive spin on negative equity, it's nearly impossible. The movers are scheduled to pack us up in less than two weeks, at which point we'll be moving into a corporate apartment a few miles from here. My Dad is hanging on at home and my eighty year old Grandmother has just flown in to see him. I feel like I should be there too.

I think about writing, but as I sit down to write, I feel all the negativity spilling out, so it seems best to put a lid on it and stick it back in the cupboard, where it can be packed up with all of my stuff and sent to storage until we get to Boston. In a few months, I know it won't seem so bad. I'll unpack it then.

Maybe the whole thing will finally feel like a gift as I rip off the moving company wrapping.

Opening a can of beans

So I have been online in my very limited spare time obsessing over houses in the Boston metro area.

Wow. It's not looking pretty.

We have limited our search to several towns that are around 20 minutes (on a good day, no accidents and traffic is moving thankyajesus) from Hubs office. From that area we've tossed out the ones with bad schools and the ones more than 30 minutes from Boston by train - because if I'm embracing the fact that the winters are a wee bit nippy, then I'd actually like to live close enough to enjoy what Beantown has to offer. Otherwise we might as well live in Rhode Island. Seriously.

So, yeah, it's a little expensive. As in all of the houses in our price range probably need a little work expensive. There is the I have blue carpet and 60's wallpaper expensive or the cute but overlooking the highway expensive. Or the condo with the postage stamp property and fees expensive, not to be outdone by the the nicely renovated 1100 square foot colonial with potential for adding on expensive.

You get me snowed in an 1100 square foot house with two children and it's going to get ugly.

So it looks like we're going with the blue carpet. No we're nowhere near making an offer on a house yet. But I know what's coming. We're probably going to have to buy a fixer upper.

Brown appliances, shag carpet, and brass light fixtures in a split level ranch. Yee haw.

Boston

So it looks official, we're moving to Boston this summer. Hubs has been offered a new position with his company and we'll be packing up the wagon to head back east.

I have such mixed feelings about it. I have loved living out west and I don't feel like we've done everything we wanted to do out here. We have some amazing friends and though it took a little getting used to, I have fully embraced the cactus.

I like to call Phoenix my "hot boyfriend" and while we are occasionally on the outs, the relationship is usually more on than off. I have a feeling that Boston is probably that guy I shouldn't get involved with. You know the one - aloof, unattainable, but so damn cool you can't help following him around like a lost puppy. We'll see.