Would I Go Back There?

I’m stuck. Geographically.  Because of my husband’s situation, assisted living, many doctors, I cannot move out of the midwest, where I’ve been stranded for over thirty years now.  But I dream.  Of places I’ve lived and places I would want to live.  What else do I have to do as the snow falls?

I grew up in New York, Rockland County to be specific, an easy busride into the city—that’s New York City, so you don’t have to get out your map.  Our house was on Highview Avenue in Nanuet.   There was Highview and there was Grandview.  And the rest were peasants?

Aside from my family, I loved Nanuet at the time.  It was woodsy.  Down the hill from us was a stream that offered endless nature studies, with ice in the winter and cool water to wade in during the summer.

In those woods was a stone wall from Colonial times and an old wooden shack that was an interesting ruin, with brooms made of sticks and, of course, stories of hauntings.  There were strangers in the woods, but I only caught a glimpse once.  Perhaps a ghost of the Jackson Whites, who used to populate the area.  (These consisted of Native Americans, runaway slaves and runaway indentured servants, so a mixture of three races, some descendants still living in the Ramapo Valley area.)

The charm of Nanuet faded when someone decided it would make a perfect suburb of the City.  The woods were torn down, the brook somehow disappeared, except for flooding the houses built on top of it, the whole community’s character changed.  A mall was built and then laid to waste, chain stores descended, traffic increased, it became a truly unpleasant place to live in—which fortunately, I didn’t for the most part, as I went to college and only came back for breaks.

Growing up, when I wasn’t in Nanuet, I was upstate in Oneida. Not what the City considers upstate, but the real upstate by the Finger Lakes.  Maybe I idealize my time there, as it was the best part of my youth; and I think I would go back there in a heartbeat, if there wasn’t so much snow in the winter.  I would love one of the old Victorian homes with a wrap-around porch.  But maybe even Oneida has changed. I doubt it.

I shall skip over college in Michigan and Rochester, New York, where I disastrously taught for a year, and move on to New York City.  It had always been my dream to live in the City, and I fulfilled it by leaving teaching and going to Katherine Gibbs in the Pam Am building.  Oh, those days of wearing a hat and gloves, going up the escalators, trying to get my shorthand up to speed.  I had the best English teacher in my life at Katherine Gibbs and met some very good city friends.  The City was wide open to me, and I took advantage of the theater, the museums, the concert halls.  Would I do it again?  No.  At this point in my life, I’m not a city person.

There are places that aren’t worth talking about because they are so miserable and Urbana, Illinois was one of them.  I met my husband at Princeton, and within two months we were sallying forth to Urbana.  When we pulled into town, I thought, this is the ugliest place I’ve ever been in my life.  My opinion never changed.  It was an isolated college town, full of incestuous backbiters.  The only good thing about Urbana was that my children got an excellent education from Leal Elementary School.

I call Tel Aviv my one year off for good behavior.  It was my husband’s sabbatical and we went “home.”  Well, his home.  We ended up in a “cottagim” in Ramat Aviv, now called Old Ramat Aviv, near the nascent Tel Aviv University.

Anyone who has ever lived in Israel knows there’s never a dull moment.  The hourly news is a must because something’s always happening.  I absolutely loved living there, despite the many, many, many frustrations.  People knew how to thrive in insane conditions.  I loved my friends, my relatives, my travels.  I didn’t love the ice cream or the fact that way back then there were no prepared foods, so everything had to be made from scratch.  This is a woman who hates cooking.

I was willing to stay in Israel.  My husband saw opportunities elsewhere.  So we returned to Urbana.  Urbana was dead.  And I was dead inside.  I told my husband that we either moved together or we moved separately.  Life is too damn short.

Onward to Lexington, Massachusetts.  I loved living in New England, where we could dash into Boston or up to Maine.  The kids hated their schools, unfortunately, and they really weren’t as good as Leal Elementary.  No experimenting.  No sense of adventure.  If it was good enough in 1650, it was good enough now.  My husband hated his job in industry.  Sadly, we stayed in Lexington for only nine months.

Our move to Silver Spring, Maryland for my husband’s job with the government was marred by the choice of the wrong neighborhood.  We were surrounded by anti-semitic bigots.  This was my fault.  We were only supposed to be there for a short time so I let my husband choose the house and neighborhood without me.  I should have known by the way he dresses that he had no taste whatsoever.  When you have to involve the FBI, you know there’s a problem.  The relief I felt from pulling away from our house there was intense.

Onward to heaven—as I call Atlanta.  Okay, the kids once again hated the schools; and, let’s face it, Southern schools are not good schools.  Parents in the neighborhood where we lived valued the type of car in the driveway over giving their children a good education.

However, for me living in Atlanta, especially after DC, was like living in Lotus Land.  There was so much warmth and not just the temperature.  The winter was two months at the most.  Flowers all the year round.  Termites too, but, hey, there’s a worm in every apple.

I loved Georgia Tech where both my husband and I taught.  We had friends there and friends from other organizations we were part of.  In fact, I never had so many friends as I did in Atlanta.  They were bountiful.  And the food—  Yes, I did gain too much weight.

People say about the south that all their friendliness is superficial.  But would you not rather be met with a friendly face than one that scowls like those in the allegedly friendly midwest?  (May I add an aside here that people in the Chicago area are under the misapprehension that they are friendlier than the people in big, bad New York City.  Totally, absolutely false.)

Our time in Atlanta was an all-too-short four years.

Yes, back to the dreaded midwest, this time within striking distance of Chicago.  When my husband got the job offer, I said to him—rather smugly—that if he got double his salary, we could go.  I will never forgive the dean for doubling his salary.  And yet, I supposed it’s what has allowed me to support my husband in his hour of need—okay, years of need.  Northwestern was very generous, financially.  But still—here I am.

Once again, I was saved by a sabbatical.  We spent a glorious year landing in four countries.  This time in Tel Aviv, we rented in Ramat Aviv Gimel.  And this time they had plenty of prepared food.  It was such a wonderful experience, reconnecting and traveling.  Then it was off to London.  Let’s just say it was an experience.

Following past convicts we left London for Australia, ending up in Newcastle.  I so enjoyed our apartment on Church Street, where I could look down and see the port.  Not to mention we were near the Hunter Valley for the many wine tastings.  We traveled all over and had some very memorable experience.

Moving onward, we next landed in New Zealand.  Except for Alaska, I’ve never seen such a beautiful country.  I could never decide whether I liked Australia or New Zealand better.  Both had so much going for them.  And the ease of living there was great.  However, neither country will allow immigration if you present any burden to their economy at all.  Sad.

So here I am, with only warm memories.  Is that enough?  Actually, no, it’s not.  I want out of here!