Each day is the anniversary of something, but yesterday fit the bill more than usual for me. Six months ago we drove from New York to Ohio when we moved back to our home state. One year ago we drove from Ohio to New York after Edith's baptism and her first visit to Defiance and Columbus.
That trip a year ago was by far the worst we ever made. It wasn't Edith's fault -- she was as much of a dream as a two-month-old could be. But we hit an awful snowstorm in Pennsylvania that put us hours behind. I don't recall my exact thoughts at the time, but I wouldn't be surprised if I was more than ready to move to Ohio at that moment.
And then, six months later, we did.
That drive wasn't annoying. Just sad. I actually still feel rather low when I think about just how weepy I was at the time. So I try not to think about it much.
I still think of Clintonville, our new neighborhood, as the Brooklyn of Columbus. I like that. I still miss Brooklyn a lot, but I often must remind myself to take off the rose-colored glasses. I have lots to legitimately miss about New York, but I have lots that I love about Ohio, too. That's easy to forget.
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