Apology

My husband read my blog this morning and chastised me for writing a particular keyword search term on my last post.  I guess it shows my naivety in certain subject matters.  I hope none of you Googled "butt plug".  I'm sorry if you did and please don't if you didn't.  I asked him how he knew about it and he said he learned it from Beavis and Butthead in his college years.  So, I'm sorry.  I will not post anymore keywords that might be questionable.  I'm embarrassed.

It's Saturday.  Our house has been on the market for almost two weeks now and we've only had two people look at it so far.  It's kind of discouraging, but oh well.  As my mom would say, "If it's meant to be, it will sell."  Perhaps the perfect buyer will come and look at it at the perfect time, which I hope will not be until next spring.  I don't want to sell before Christmas because I wouldn't want to risk Santa not being able to find us. 

When I was eight years old my family moved from Western New York to California.  We flew out on December 9th, 1984.  I remember it was very exciting, but sad at the same time.  It was exciting because it was a new home in a new state and it was my first time on an airplane.  I was very excited to go to California and see movie stars and be able to swim all year long. (Much to my disappointment I learned that you cannot swim year round because it does get cold.)  It was sad because we were leaving our almost entire extended family including my maternal grandmother and cousins and others.  However, it was supposed to be a one year assignment for my dad and we were planning on returning back to our old home which was being rented.  I think we even left the furniture there.  I don't blame my parents for taking the opportunity.

My dad's company put us up in a nice hotel for what was probably a week or two while we waited for the moving truck to arrive at our new rental home.  I don't remember the exact date that we moved in, but needless to say it was right before Christmas.  I wish I could ask my mom right now if she was stressed that Christmas.  I'm sure she was, but I remember it as any other Christmas, fun and enjoyable.  I'm sure there were moving boxes still to be unpacked, but I don't remember them.  My parents have always done an excellent job at making Christmas the best time of the year.  I remember getting a Good Luck Bear Care Bear figurine in my stocking.  It was the same Care Bear figurine that I gave my best friend before we left.  I had seen that there was an extra one in one of the moving boxes.  It was that year that I realized Santa delivers presents to parents early on years that they move.

The point of the above story is to prove that Santa does not forget families that move.  But just so I don't leave you hanging.....My dad's assignment eventually turned into two years and then into a permanent position.  My parents sold the house in NY, they bought a house in CA in 1987 and that is where I grew up  for most of my childhood. I lived there until I was 23 when I met my Southern husband on the Internet. So I guess you could say I'm a California girl, but I'm not a native.  Sometimes I wish I had some solid roots to refer to as "home", but I enjoy my triad of state citizenship.

Putting our Buick on the moving truck in the winter snow.

 The Mayflower survived its voyage across the country.

 (That's me on the loading ramp waving.)

This is me in the pool in February.  That's as far as I got in.  If I got in any farther I would've risked the danger of hypothermia.