Toto, I've a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore

This will likely come as a surprise to many of you, but...

We moved.

To Minneapolis.

Just over a year ago.

Alright, I can see where this wouldn't be a surprise on a cognitive level. Many of you have noticed that we haven't been around all that much in the last 14 months. Some of you have even visited us here in the US of A and confirmed the veracity of this transplantation with your own eyes.

But somehow, even though I also knew this to be true, it kind of just hit me yesterday.

The catalyst was the annual church directory. I received a copy of the names and addresses of people who attend our Winnipeg church. I scanned through it, smiling at all the names I recognized, and also at those I didn't recognize thinking, how nice for them that they've found such a great place to call their church home.

But as I reached the end, I realized, hey, there's only one family on that list that doesn't have a Winnipeg-or-nearby-vicinity address.

Mine.

Now, as far as I'm concerned, FG is still my home church, even though we've been attending our local one for almost a year now. We get back every chance we can, and we're probably averaging one attendance every couple of months (which is possibly better than some other people on that list). Everybody's always glad to see us - or seems to be - and many have kept in touch beyond those always-too-short visits.

But now I'm starting to think that maybe I'm just deluding myself. Maybe home isn't where the heart is; maybe home is where you hang your hat. And maybe I need to start working a bit harder to make those two places the same.

Our tendency to move every year doesn't help in this regard. Given our track record, there was really no reason to rule out a move back to the 'Peg within a year of touchdown in Minneapolis. We go through addresses like other people go through Hallowe'en pumpkins - get a new one every year cuz last year's is soggy.

And this transitoriness (is that a word? If not, it should be, as it describes my life) means that any attempts to make a house a home are delayed until I'm sure they're worth it. Of course I work hard to get the kids settled - find new friends, locate the nearest parks, develop a new school routine -and get a semblance of routine for myself so I can cling to as much sameness as possible, but ultimately these patterns of life are simply a new veneer over the "old life."

But the longer I'm away from that old life, the less it works to have that as my foundation. With one foot on the dock and one foot in the boat, I feel constantly unstable. Never willing to say goodbye to the world of the past, I prevent any new experiences from taking root for fear of them supplanting the old.

This isn't homesickness, I don't think. Goodness know I've done that often enough over the past year. This is different. This feels more like an uprooting. Or the final closing of a door. Like Dorothy in Oz, I've left behind the sepia-toned familiar world for the technicolor strangeness of the new. Except I don't have any ruby slippers, and I can't just click them three times to return.

Even though my heart keeps repeating "There's no place like home."