I read recently (in a meme on FB, so, you know...no credibility whatsoever) that the average person moves 8 times in their lifetime. At least that's what I think it said. I don't remember.
Off to Google I go!
The consensus is actually 11, not 8. Good thing I fact-checked myself there.
I've moved 9 times. I don't think being brought home from the hospital after birth counts as "moving". I lived in the same house from birth (actually, I didn't "move in" until I was 2.5 weeks old, if you want to get technical, but like I said above -- I don't count going from the hospital where I was born to my first home as moving. One could argue that after 2.5 weeks I may have accumulated more "stuff" at the hospital than the average newborn, but I doubt it, since this was back in 1974 and hospitals weren't as hospitable (ha, ha) about things like that. But this is all speculation; I don't remember how much stuff I brought home with me, and I've never asked my parents.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. From birth to age 19, I lived in the same house. My parents still live there. That's what has inspired tonight's post. I really wish they would move. Earlier tonight, I saw (on FB) that their intersection was mentioned on one of the "crime pages" yet again. (To clarify, I follow several pages on FB that track or report the crime in St. Paul, primarily for this reason. I'll just call them the "crime pages".) It was a rather lengthy report, saying there were "numerous callers" reporting "shots fired" and a "male. . . running . . . in the alley . . . said to be shooting at a black SUV and someone in the vehicle was shooting back." Nice. But wait, there's more! "A bullet hole in the wall was found at 7** Edmund..." and insert Tash going ballistic (lame pun intended) here.
One thing to mention -- it's the practice of this crime page not to mention the exact address. I get it -- it's one of the scanner pages, meaning people are basically transcribing what is coming across the scanner as it's coming across, so they want to give a semblance of security by not publishing the addresses. Even though everyone who is actually listening on the scanner will get to hear the actual address. But, I digress; I was not listening to the actual scanner, so all the info I got was "7** Edmund" which, at that intersection, had a 25% chance of being my parents' house. The one I lived in from ages 2.5 weeks to 19 years (and some-odd months, weeks, and days, I'm sure).
So, of course I called my parents right away, not knowing what to expect, fearing the worst.
Of course, my Mom answered, calmly, with a hint of confusion about why I was calling. At an odd time. "Are you guys okay?" I asked.
". . . yes, why?" she replied.
"Well, I read on Facebook that there was shooting going on by your house again," I blurted out. I tried to keep my cool, I really did, but I just can't sometimes.
"Oh, so that's what was going on," my Mom remarked, much too casually for my comfort. Like, far too casually. As if she'd been half-heartedly searching for her favorite pen and just happened to spy it on the dining room table in her periphery while passing by to answer the phone and was going to go back and get it later, when she had time: "Oh . . . there it is."
This is an ongoing struggle for me. Apparently only for me, though. Apparently, my parents see nothing wrong with living in a neighborhood where gunfights are becoming the norm. Alright, I'm going to stop right here, because this is tangent I could go off on for quite a while. As I said, it's an ongoing struggle for me. I've been trying to convince my parents to move out of the city for a long time. I used to think it was because I'm selfish and I wanted them living closer to me because it would make life easier for me. Now I know it's because I'm selfish and I want them living closer to me because I will be able to take better care of them and not fear for my life when going to visit them and not fear for their lives when I'm not able to be with them.
And I'm not even kidding.
*deep cleansing breath in...*
That's what's on my mind tonight. How can I convince my parents to move? I've showed them what houses in their neighborhood are selling for -- which always surprises them. You have to remember, they bought their house in like 1970-something for around $25k. So I try to entice them by showing them what they could get for their house, and then what they get another place for. A place in the country like they always talked about for their retirement home. I've offered to pack for them. I've offered to hire movers for them. I've offered to build them a house on our property. I literally do not know what else I can do to get them to move. There is no question at all where I inherited my stubbornness . . .
On that note, I'm gonna sign off. The hubby is in bed already because he wasn't feeling good when he got home. The boy is upstairs already, playing on his computer. The dog is even upstairs already, because he wanted to go to bed. This makes me miss Luger. Luger was MY dog. He wouldn't go to bed until I went to bed. He might've gone upstairs before I did, but he would lay on the floor until I got up there. Not Maxwell; Maxell will lay on my frickin' pillow if I don't get up there first, and then look at me with sad, sad eyes when I try to get him to move. I'm such a sucker for sad, sad dog eyes.
Alright, thanks for reading my gibberish tonight. As you were.
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