"A man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home."
My dear hubby and I had the extreme privilege and pleasure of helping to move our oldest son and his lovely girlfriend into their new apartment in Cambridge, MA a few weeks back. They moved from her neat little apartment – which was in the suburbs and was an apartment addition to a ranch style home - about 15 or so minutes away, into their first place together, smack in the middle of preppy Cambridge and into a charming and well kept 6 family home (3 Floors-2 sides) on a street of many similar Victorian style multi-family homes. Theirs is a 2nd floor walkup – 4 large rooms plus a huge bath, high ceilings, plenty of large windows and natural light, hardwood floors and lovely woodwork trim which is typical of these gorgeous older homes, including crown molding. They had been busy painting it the week before and the rooms were wonderfully done in shades of off red, pea-greenish green, slate blue and I can’t recall the bedroom – perhaps a beige-ish/brown-ish color. Some of the homes on the street and surrounding neighborhood, although large Victorian style, are single family. I was surprised to see a lot of trees and shrubs and lush green in and around these homes, all nicely landscaped and well maintained. I had never been to Cambridge and when I hear the word “city” I get a completely different picture in my mind from what it actually was. The neighborhoods – just off from the “main drags” so to speak – were charming and immaculate. They are just a very short walk – a couple tenths of a mile – from Porter Square and Massachusetts Ave. Harvard Square is a mile or so away. My son’s job as Technical Instructor in the Physics Department at MIT, is 3 miles or so away and he catches the T to get there. His girlfriend’s job in Medford is about a 10 minute drive, but she can also take a bus. She will be attending Graduate School in the Fall at Leslie University, which is just a few blocks away. So, they are right where they need and want to be! The demographic here is a large percentage of young professionals. There are parks and sidewalk shops and cafes and neat brick walk ways.
We live in the rural-ish northeast corner of Connecticut on 3 acres tucked away off the road down a long driveway in the woods. (OK, if you’ve read some of my other posts – or if you’re my sisters – you already know where I live and all about my gorgeous rural “backyard”!) I’d call it country – with its beautiful back roads, cow pastures, fences, wild turkeys, foxes, deer, owls and, well, you get the picture. My son grew up far from the city. His girl grew up in southwestern Maine with lots of animals and a 45 minute drive to the high school in another town. So she too was far from the city. You may recall the children’s story entitled, something along the lines of “Country Mouse, City Mouse.” Well, now my little Country Mouse and his Country Mouse girl, are definitely City Mice! And, I think they are adapting well – public transportation and all! My son says he really enjoys taking the “T” to work and feeling like a true Bostonian!
They had met in college – Wheaton College in Massachusetts -- and were happy to be moving very close by to another Wheaton grad friend, who lives a mile or so away near Davis Square and who had offered to help them with the move. Manpower thus supplied, we supplied the truck and “know-how.” Mike was glad he wouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting and was happy to orchestrate the actual moving, having had much moving experience in the past. Did you know that the best way to move a couch is not to just pick it up – keeping it parallel to the floor, etc.? But rather, you stand it up on end and can now walk it around the opening of a door, a corner, etc. Who knew? This you can only learn from experience. Mike was very good at knowing the logistics, strategy and mechanics of this move and his leadership and command of the situation was welcomed, respected and invaluable. In order to take the couch out of the apartment, the door needed to be removed from the hinges. Mike assessed and concluded this almost immediately and of course had the tools and knew exactly what to do. This might have been overwhelming to anyone who did not have the experience (or tools) to realize what needed to be done or otherwise how to do it.
The 2 younger men had an abundance of energy and, although sweating profusely, seemed otherwise unfazed by the high temperatures on this Sunday afternoon in mid-July. Indeed, the mood was almost festive – it was a joyous occasion – and at any minute I expected to hear whistling, specifically, to the tune of “Whistle While You Work!” My role in the move was to lend moral support when needed (I was good at that) and to otherwise stay out of the way, (I was good at that, too!) There was already an ample number of both “Chiefs” and “Indians,” (Oh dear, I’m afraid that is politically incorrect, isn’t it?!) and one more, in either capacity, was simply not needed. Knowing and understanding this simple truth, I suppose, also comes from years of experience. Perhaps we do grow wiser with age?
As I was doing my part of staying out of the way in the kitchen – which, by the way, has a “back” door out onto a very cool fire escape and roof top – I heard the grunts and groans and logistical talking of moving the couch into the apartment from the hall. The stairs twisted and were narrow, as was the hall and the door opening. I think the couch was half way in and then out a few times when I finally heard a collective, “yes!” The couch was in! This was a big deal. High fives were given all around (I think – I was still in the kitchen) and then I heard Mike say, “OK, how many Wheaton Grads does it take to move a couch?” Very funny. All kidding aside though, these Wheaton grads – these fine young capable people -- I’m sure could move mountains if they put their hearts and minds to it. I’ve no doubt that someday they will.
A cooler packed with cold water, juices and homemade pizza awaited us now that the immediate task at hand was completed. As we sat around their new kitchen table on nicely reupholstered chairs, Zack commented, in all sincerity, “Wow, where you’d get this pizza? It’s really good!” Well, Mike had made the pizza and he’s always working on improving it – constantly tweaking it and trying something different. It’s his thing. So, I think he was glad that it was enjoyed enough to have been commented on in that way. This, I believe, made his day, at least to a small degree.
It was now time for us to leave. They all had a lot more to do – going back for their clothes and shopping for at least a shower curtain and a little food. Although not completely moved in, they would now be living here. The bulk of the heavy stuff was here, specifically the mattresses, couch and large chair. As we were getting ready for our goodbyes, I heard Allie mention that they also still needed to buy some beer for Zack. I smiled at this very appropriate gesture and was reminded of my old neighborhood growing up. Whenever any of the neighbors helped the other out with one sort of project or another, beer was always given in appreciation. I mean, you can’t really pay your friends. To give someone 20 bucks is just plain silly. Perhaps some of the tasks were worth 1 or 2 or even 3 hundred dollars or more if you had to actually hire someone to do it. In my neighborhood, you just bought the person a 6 pack or 2 or even a case of their favorite beer and called it even. You knew you could count on each other for help with certain tasks and you knew you’d either be buying the beer or receiving it. It was the code I guess. A person would know how much of their time would be needed – 30 minutes, 1 or 2 hours etc, -- beforehand by being told something to the effect of, “Oh, this is only a 1 six pack job.” And it was not that the “helper” was anticipating or expected any sort of reward – because the true reward was really in just being a good neighbor and friend and the pleasure derived from helping someone out – but just to know the enormity of the task at hand. I recall a time shortly after we were married when we asked our friend “the neighborhood mechanic” if he would be able to tune up our car. We didn’t feel we could trust bringing it to a garage (OK, I’m dating myself here – but you already know how old I am anyway) and of course he obliged. (I know now that this must have been an extreme inconvenience for him and probably went beyond boundaries really – too much to ask. We were very young!) I bought 2 cases of his favorite beer the next day, leaving it on his door steps. Sometimes, on smaller jobs, the beer would be consumed while the job was being done. This always seemed to make the job go easier, yet it always took more time! For these types of jobs, of course, one would say, “Oh, this is a 1 beer job, maybe 2.” And a good time would be had by all – which was really the point.
Well, our parental duties done – at least for the move and at least for now – we headed on home. Allie’s Dad had moved her into the apartment that she was now leaving, almost 2 years ago and I know her Mom helped her to paint it. I thought of her parents now (though I’ve never met them) and realized that they must have felt secure in the knowledge that someone – that we -- would be helping their daughter with the move this time. After all, our son was moving too. I’m sure they appreciated it – (just as we appreciated her Dad helping to fix Alex’s car when it got creamed in a rotary in Massachusetts a few years back.) And I’m sure they thought about it too. I think we had a little parental telepathy going because I felt their gratitude, as I knew that they knew – we had this one.
Truth be told, parental duty or not, it was truly a pleasure and an honor to help out these wonderful young adults. And I think it was gratifying - no, I know it was -- in more of a “roots and wings” kind of thing. To see your children grow into responsible, capable adults and to watch them fly off -- really on their own now – well, what more can a parent want for their child? You do your best while raising them (mistakes are made and you wonder whether they turned out ok, because of you or in spite of you – perhaps both) and hope they go off into the world, well equipped. You’ve given them wings, and although bittersweet, you watch them fly. And when my son called that night, as I listened to his words on the answering machine – just checking in to see if we made it back alright, thanking us again for helping him, and that he was looking forward to coming soon for a visit – I knew we had given him roots.
