Skip to main content

Moving to Waco: In Short


Three nights ago Felicity tried running. She was wearing her long maxi-dress, with the little ruffles around the top and the bottom. She tried with all her little might to run after her two year-old friend who had a ball. Into the long grass, she went. The thick grass was taller than her knees. She stumbled on the grass and her skirt, but stood up again, and again. She tried so hard.

Three weeks ago she took her first step in California. Three weeks ago I was living in California. Not anymore.

People ask, “How do you like Waco? What do I think of moving?”

Putting into words the experience of moving is difficult. On the one hand, there is something so ordinary about it. Yesterday, I sang to my baby and put her to bed. This morning, I went for my mile run. I dropped Nathan off at school, carpooling, the same as we’ve always done. Yet, it is different. Here, Felicity has a room of her own. The brick buildings of the classically, beautiful Baylor campus put Makita Tool company’s white, rectangular office to aesthetic shame. And the air is thick here. It sticks to you when you run. You notice it. Three weeks is not enough time to really know what I think.
As I reflect, I wonder about the story I choose to tell about this place. I find myself wondering, can I determine my experience of Waco? (Clearly, I’m motivated by the fact that my husband is a philosopher) Over the past six months, when I told people I was moving to Waco a range of responses came my way.

“It’s the armpit of Texas.”

“Growing up here is the best.”

“It’s exciting.”

"I hate it."

"I love it."

And the one agreed upon thought: "It's hot in the summer."

 One place manages to elicit a range of contrary emotions. Perhaps the place is just a backdrop. It is me who gets to decide who I will be in this place. And I can love it as much as the familiar streets of Harbor City, the eclectic eateries in Los Angeles, the winding pavement of Oxford. But to love it, is also to admit that it is not those other places. And it is OK to miss them.


My experience of Waco is a walking one. I try to run in this thick new grass, but I will stumble sometimes. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Girl on the Go

Who knew about strength training for little limbs? Prior to birthing my little girl, I did not know about baby exercises. But they exist! There is the bicycle for infant legs, which, you guessed it—Momma makes baby’s legs pedal in a bicycle motion. Then there is the YMCA. Yep. Sing the YMCA and make baby’s arms dance. All of these exercises were handily learned on the app for baby development. How else would millennials learn about baby growth if there weren’t an app? But the real baby workout is Tummy Time. Yes—Tummy Time—the time when baby is placed on tummy to begin the difficult task of holding up her neck.   Followed by the even more difficult task of head turning. The ultimate goal: Crawling. The half-way point to the ultimate goal: Flipping Over. Anxious to give Felicity every advantage, I dutifully spread a blanket for tummy time. At first her head bobbled and dipped to grab a mouthful of blanket. Then came the quizzical eyes when she managed to turn towards m...
Post a Comment
Read more

Two Little Girls and a Bench

  It was one of those moments before dinner in which I could have easily moved into the busy rush of dinner, clean-up, and bed-time, when I was stopped in my tracks. Isabelle, with her round face, and bright eyes, and fifteen month strength, clamored onto a bench and made it apparent to me that she wanted to jump from its one foot height with the help of my hand. I obliged and a game began, a game that was immediately joined by Emmaline, her three-year old sister, who does everything with full abandon. Soon, I found myself holding two little hands as two little girls jumped off a bench in unison. What joy this moment held for them. Again. Repeat. They would have jumped as long as I allowed. Each little face starlit with the joy of leaving the earth for one brief moment in the company of one’s sister and one’s mommy.  Tonight I read in Chesterton’s Orthodoxy that, “Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want t...
Post a Comment
Read more

Slaying Giants

Days like this begin when the night before I choose not to sleep, because I must read a few more lines from some news site or scroll one last time through the glowing screen of my iPhone instead of making good on my resolve to read quality literature and journal prior to bed. They continue when I wake up earlier than usual to teach, but finish teaching to realize that my children also went to bed later then they should. So now, everyone’s patience operates like feet hitting a wet spot on a wood floor. Bam. You loose traction. And first one then another is upset and done. That tantrum sparked another melt-down from someone else, and as I try to not join the melt-downs, and instead attempt to be the adult I hazard some words of explanation.  “Your choices impact us all.” I tell one of them.  My children’s choice do change the tenor of the room for good or for ill, but so do my choices. On days of this sort, where nothing is really wrong, other than a strong case of the grumpies...
Post a Comment
Read more