All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go

This is my final night at home. I'm sitting on a mattress on the floor of my bedroom. It's strange that, even though all of the stuff I'm taking with me is packed and out of the house, this room is still very much mine. My dresser, my TV, my pictures, my high school diploma, some paintings I did years ago, bunny slippers, and GRE books are all still here. An elementary school name tag is still thumbtacked to the wall.

I guess I'll be haunting this house for a while.

My last posts have all been about looking back and reflecting on my life here in this small town with pizza shop owners who have known me since I was a toddler and quirky points of pride including a stolen bell from the Civil War. But I haven't adequately expressed just how excited I am to do this. I really can't wait to arrive at my new place and arrange all of our things. This is an adventure, and I'm so happy to be doing it with Jarrod, because we will grow, explore, learn, struggle, laugh, sing, wash dishes, discover, run, study, and love.

But I've been correct in looking back, because this is a big step and my excitement for the future does not discount just how dear this time has been.

Mom and Dad, I'm not leaving you and I'll continue to need you, not in the same ways, but I'll need you nonetheless, just like when I could tie my shoes by myself, there were still other things that I needed and wanted you for-- I'll always need your ears, your words, your support and encouragement. But now I can give more to you too. This isn't easy, but it's good; I'm leaving home because you've been such incredible parents. You have raised me to be an adult, and I am one.

Now I can look forward, and move forward, and construct my life. This is a great responsibility, but I'm equal to it, and I'll do so with zeal and joy.

Plus, you know, Buffalo isn't all that far away and I'll always come back to this place, and it will always be my home. It will change and so will I, but it's still home.

Sweet New England

My worldly possessions are ready to be loaded into a truck tomorrow morning, including a lot of my pictures. I still have them all on my computer, however, so here are some images of my final summer in New England.

The first few images are from a walk around my neighborhood

Love

Strawberry-picking in New Hampshire

And baseball in Rhode Island

Boston on Independence Day

A garden in Harvard

One last trip to my alma mater

My friend's mad tea party birthday

And a goodbye cake

Movin' Out

My life is slowly being packed away into cardboard boxes, stuffed and crammed into impossibly tight corners, waiting to explode into a new space.



(I have four boxes packed like that, nothing but books.)



This is my final week of living in my parents' house, which has been home for my entire life. This inspires certain thoughts.


I remember what it was like in the days before my older sisters left home. I was eleven when my eldest sister got married. Just a few days before the wedding, my father, my sister's fiance, and the best man stood around a huge map unfolded across my kitchen table and traced the route from Massachusetts to Kansas with their fingers. I was enthralled by the idea of driving hundreds and hundreds of miles away to a place that would instantly be their new home. I foolishly imagined my sister making the entire journey in her white wedding dress, and failed to comprehend why my mother was crying in the other room. There was a wedding and an adventure, and this was the best time of all because of the pleasure of anticipation; none of it had happened yet, but it was so close, just brushing the fingertips of the grand event. To the eleven year old mind, it was like 10 PM on Christmas Eve, and called for excited impatience for a day when everything would be different.

I expected great change-- my sister was now going to be a bride and immediately transform into a wife. The entire day would be filled with romantic magic. But we got up the morning of the wedding and Laurie's maid of honor and bridesmaid came over to watch a few episodes of Friends, and I sat on the swing outside until I was made to come in and put on my yellow dress. My hair was braided and sprayed stiff and had flowers woven into the twists, and then it was time to go to the church. The church did not look any different than it ever did; I genuflected and sat in the pew between Katie and our mom, as always. Then I watched my sister and her husband have their pictures taken, and we went to the reception hall, where there were no mysterious and romantic boys for me to dance with, no glittering aura filling the air or reflecting off the candle centerpieces.

Afterwards, my life went on and we all settled into a new normal. Laurie left and Diet Coke was now excinded from the grocery list. She had been living away at college for the last three years, so her absence wasn't completely foreign. There was an empty room in the house now, and my parents moved their bedroom downstairs to give my sister Katie and me free reign over the upper level of our house.

We could have had our own rooms then, something that most eleven and fourteen year old sisters would rejoice over-- but Katie and I were unusual girls. We decided to stay together in the same room we had shared our entire lives. Little changed, even when Katie graduated high school and began college; I was her only college roommate, since she commuted to school from home.

I was 18 when she married Eric, and much more comprehending of the significance of the event. The night before the wedding, Katie and I sat on our beds in our pajamas and talked, like we always had, the conversation ranging from the wedding to her moving to Maine (and how I was going to buy her a big ugly flannel nightgown for the cold Maine winters), to random childhood memories. I wasn't sad, though I was wistfully aware that this was the final night of us being the two Jaworek girls and that, from tomorrow onward, things would be different. It would never be like this again, and that was sadly sweet; childhood never lasts, and the final vestiges of ours were falling away. The next morning, we woke up early and padded downstairs to a breakfast of muffins (I took a cranberry one, Katie went for the double chocolate muffin), and talked with our parents at the table like always. Then it was time for Katie to change into her white dress, me into my pink one, and we headed to the church.

After the wedding, I returned to my half-empty room and for the first time, I was Jen Alone.

That room gradually metamorphosized into my own; my twin bed's twin was dissembled and stowed away in the attic, my desk and bookshelves eventually took the bed's place, our old stuffed animals were donated or passed down to Katie's daughters, and my own twin bed joined its counterpart in the attic when I upgraded to a queen-sized bed.

And now I sort through it all and decide what to bring with me, what to keep here in my parents' house, what to throw away. This room will soon be vacant. Before, it was Laurie's and then it was passed into my and Katie's hands, and then left solely to me, and there is no one to take my place. Already, it feels like it's not fully mine, like my college was no longer mine during my final week on campus; I walked about by myself in those last days, remembering the places and people and felt that I was already absent. I was a ghost.

Will I haunt this room, this house? Katie haunts it still, so does Laurie: I still keep my bed to the left side of the room, perhaps to preserve the space for Katie's phantom bed, there are marks on the ceiling from our old glow-in-the-dark plastic stars, the carpet in my parents' bedroom is the same deep cranberry color that a 15-year-old Laurie chose, my sisters' chairs at the kitchen table remain vacant. Rooms store memories in their corners, even when those corners are empty and dusty.

Soon, I will leave this house and leave part of myself here. I'm just not sure what part will stay behind in these rooms, how much of me is left out in the backyard with the old spoons and plastic toys, long forgotten, rusted and buried and broken, but still there. And other parts of me will emerge in Buffalo from the strange new soil of grad school, my own apartment, Jarrod's presence, my natural mutability.

Everything feels so amorphous and jumbled together, though it's all wrapped in paper, packed away into tidy boxes and labeled neatly. I feel excited, nervous, wistful, hopeful, hopeless, afraid, ambitious, determined, and everything all at once.

You know? I wouldn't change that. I want to feel everything, think everything, and write this all down, as confused and inelegant as it may be.

Life Update

I haven't written on here in a few weeks. First, I want to note that I'm not nearly as sad as I was when I wrote that last entry on the day that my dog died. I'll always miss Sasha, but I know that it was her time and I had to let her go.

This month has been insane because I'm preparing for my big move. In two weeks, I'll be packing up my life and [cliche alert!!] shuffle off the Buffalo, where I will earn my Masters in English. I'm packing, planning, making phone calls, reminiscing, painting, and writing and moving in a million different directions at once (emotionally, that is; physically, I just get on one highway and head west until I hit my first Great Lake). The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity and emotion, and it's only going to intensify from here on out. Despite all the turbulence that necessarily surrounds this kind of life change, I can't contain how excited I am to embark on this adventure with my boyfriend, my best friend, Jarrod.

So this blog will undergo some changes in this process; I won't have as much time to write here, because I'll be writing papers for classes, studying, exploring my new city, and living. But, when I do post, I am certain that the quality of these scribblings will be much improved, because I want to keep this as a sort of portfolio of my work; after I hand in my papers for school and get them back with grades and comments, I'm going to make some edits to them and post them here.

In the meantime, I'll post a few things about this preparation period and my move (expect pictures!), and try to keep sane.