Moving

Who knew.  Surely not me.  The phone rang at dear ol’ dad’s house, and there was a lovely young woman on the other end of it.  Department Manager of Intimate Apparel.  Through some incalculable kismet, I crossed her path and she took some note of the tall guy with the best (easy, because it was the only) GPA on the loading dock, unloading trucks.  She called.  I somehow did not screw it up, and won life’s lotto.   

By some calculable but still peculiar kismet, we all arrive at Amanda’s apartment in Phoenix at the same time.  The four family members arrive by plane, Jeep, car and U-Haul, all at the exact same time at the gated entrance.  Unloading trucks?  It hasn’t made it on the resume since 1988 but, hey, once a professional, always a professional.  Give me the big stuff.  Yes, I know I’m old.    

Phoenix in July is lovely, in a - hey, my eyebrows sweat - kind of way.  What’s weird is that, weekend before last, I was slogging up icy Mount Shasta.  Four layers on the upper body and three layers on the lower, trying to retain enough heat in 50 mph winds to keep the ancient quads, hams and glutes going.  No such problem today, and only fifteen steps to the second floor.  Piece of cake. 

The other thing that’s weird – at least to me – is I don’t have any precedent for this.  My dad wasn’t ever physically or financially able to help me move.  He absolutely supported my efforts, but he simply couldn’t help.  I was on my own, which was its own blessing, and curse.  There’s just no learned behavior to fall back on for the day’s events. 

Two things.  First, it’s probably only weird to me, so I don’t say boo about it.  Secondly, I figure out there’s no need for a learned behavior component.  Love isn’t learning dependent.  Daughter / sister needs help.  Father, mother, brother provide help.  It couldn’t be simpler.  It could be cooler.  But it couldn’t be simpler.  Families rule.  And the metro region is so thick with Chicago ex-pats that there’s two Portillos’ to choose from !

Twenty-four hours in the Jeep there and back, much of it across a brutal desert landscape, with plenty of open horizon for thought.  And this is the thought, as the mileposts flicker by:

This is where I came in.  Out of college, temporarily working on a loading dock as all the potential paths fanned out in front of me.  Young woman calls.  A first date goes so well it still seems a dream.  An interview goes well.  Apartments are rented.  A career is undertaken.  A marriage and two kids.  Three homes, and counting.  And the first born now where her parents were at when this path – this incalculably beautiful path – began.  New career, first post-college apartment, spouse to be.   

Heading back to Seaside, the heat rising off I-10 is refracting light.  In the wavy, dancing radiance, I wonder if Hades itself lies just below the surface.  If deals with the devil are an actual thing, sign me up for my daughter and son having as wonderful a family as the one I’ve been blessed with.