So Long for now America

We've been saying good-bye for days, weeks actually, but I can't believe we're really leaving, and for good reason: It's Thursday, the night before our flight, and 315 Clinton Ave is hopping like Grand Central Station. First came a locksmith and two washing machine repairmen. Then Muriel dropped off Lucien for one last playdate. Julien, Otto and their pop Jason, followed bringing ice cream for the kids and beers for us. Thanks Jason, we needed them! The pizza man buzzes as Rhaman the roofer arrives to do a quick patch on a new leak that sprung over our Southern window. Muriel stops back in as I'm whipping the heavy cream for the ice cream (ice cream topped with whipped cream was a last minute request Timi gave to Jason.) I open her a beer and Rhaman's minions tromp by in search of the roof.

We still hadn't packed, but then those of you who know us probably knew that already.

On Friday morning, we snuck in two last minute school interviews for Peter in the hopes that I won't have to spend my days home-schooling him when we arrive back in Brooklyn next fall. We stepped off the bus at the corner of Clinton and Lafayette at 2:12 pm, just in time to finish (for some of us that was start) packing. Estimated time of departure from JFK: 3 hrs 45 minutes and counting.

I was still shoving crucial items into a bag: a Kings of Leon CD, my black boots, firewires, a flashdrive and Mr. Frog and Mr. Toad, when the car showed up. The phone rings. It's Dad calling (who else!). Timi was removing air conditioners and stacking plastic bins on our storage ledge so the place would be prepped and ready for the renters. He still hadn't packed. (I've learned to accept it: multitasking will never be his thing.) Thankfully Lindsay, our babysitter, had stuffed his clothes (all eight shirts and three pairs of jeans) in a stray suitcase. As luck would have it, the boys were not underfoot as usual, but were instead glued to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, a gift from Lindsay for the flight.

Luca and Wendy stopped by on the way home from Dillon to see us off. With Wendy and Lindsay's assistance, we somehow made it down three flights of stairs and out to the curb with all our luggage and offspring. Wait, as Mr. Wonka says, reverse that. Where's Parker. Oh, there's my Oompa Loompa making a last minute dash for the park with his bike.

Once we got him corralled it was time to say our fairwells. It was a teary moment, especially for me saying good-bye to Lindsay (good gawd, nine months without her. Is it humanly possible!) and Wendy (I'm certain they don't make friends like her in Vienna. Peter asks: "Mama who will make our halloween costumes this year?"). And for Parker who was having a major meltdown over the fact that we were loading our gear into an enormous black SUV and screaming, "take Mama's car airplane!"

We managed to stuff the trunk with plenty of possessions despite all the last minute chaos. Here's Timi packing 458 pounds of luggage (thanks for the scale Cindy!) into our extra large vehicle. He's been in training for this moment since he was 11. That is his father never believed in help of any sort (must be the Scottish genes) and thus showed his only child how to fit bikes, daybeds, shelving systems, old stereos and loads of linens into the family's 1972 Mercedes when going to the lake every summer. If Timi ever loses his job at City Tech I'm confident he could pick up some good paying gigs as a professional mover. I mean look at this trunk:

Well guess it's good-bye for now Brooklyn. So long America. We'll miss you and all you good people. Come visit us if you can. We'll take you to the Opera and skiing in the Alps and hey...if you thought there were sheer cliffs in upstate New York, wait until you see the overhanging limestone crags that are waiting for you here....

LOVE,

Caroline, Timi, Peter and Parker