We're moving. Not far, just a few blocks away actually, but it feels like a big deal. I've been waiting for an opening at the Rose St. Artists' Coop for years and finally I was at the top of the list. The timing is a little hard but we can deal with it. So in January, after living in this house for over 12 years, we'll be moving into a 2 bedroom apartment, a really cool 2 bedroom apartment with a loft and wood floors and 16 foot ceilings in a coop where all the members are artists.
Moving to an apartment after living in a house for so long will be an adjustment but my house feels like a little island of sanity surrounded by chaos. I'm thankful for the sanctuary it has given me but I'm exhausted by the sea I'm floating in here. Living in this house I have dealt with a DEA drug bust next door, a neighbor who was stalking me and secretly photographing my family, there seems to be a murder within a two block radius every year, crackheads breaking into my car, a homeless Sudanese woman asking for shelter, the neighbor who chased Zeke's friends with a broom, witnessing prostitution and drug deals... I know "life" happens but I feel like I've had a little too much "life" and absolutely no community here.This is a transitional neighborhood, its changed a lot. I've stuck it out for a long time thinking good people staying can change the neighborhood. I've been here long enough to see that that is not true and its time to move on.
This is the only house Ophelia remembers living in. We moved here when she was 14 months old. She was born at home and we are renters. I had no idea what I wanted to do with her placenta, so we put it in the freezer while I decided. I couldn't decide. We moved into this house and the frozen placenta came with us. Knowing that this is not my house I couldn't plant it here. My mother lives in a house that was never my house. I couldn't plant it there. I couldn't decide what to do with it, so it sat in the freezer, often almost forgotten, except when the freezer got empty enough to see the purple Tupperware bowl in the back. I don't want to move the placenta again and I need to take care of this before the ground freezes.
I've tried talking to Ophelia about it, but her 13 year old sensibility does not understand saving placenta and my attachment to it. I've asked her to help me decide what to do with it and her solution is to just throw it away. I can't. I've asked her if she would write a story about it, that way I'd have something else to hold onto, but she refuses. I've asked her if I could take her picture with it, that didn't go over so well either. She just thinks its gross and wants me to get rid of it. This poor girl has to have me for a mother. I can just imagine the stories she might tell someday. I asked a friend of mine to help me decide what to do. He didn't think I needed help. I beg to differ. I've had placenta in my freezer for over 13 years!! That's just not normal.
When I was talking to my mom today she suggested that I bring it to a favorite spot. My favorite spot, the place I go to that feels like home, the place that I always want to return to, is in Maine. I don't know if I want to tote the placenta all the way to Maine. I'm trying to think of a favorite spot here in VT, somewhere that I can visit, somewhere that is important to me. At this point it doesn't have to be important to Ophelia since she feels no attachment. Maybe it can become important to her later. I may even make a letterbox for the spot. Since I love letterboxing. I can only do what feels right, and I still don't know what that is.
