fly over states

can you find Bloomington?

My parents are house people. They like the neighborhoods, the sidewalks, the elementary school around the corner, and individual mailboxes. They like quiet, or predictable noise. They like garages and being able to park in their own driveway, not a public garage or on the street. They are not apartment people. And we tried. Really, I wanted them to like the apartment--the proximity to public transportation, the pool, the fitness center, the buzz, the elevator, and the afternoon shrieks of kids and the night noise of twenty-something music. But, no, those are things I enjoy about urban living.

Today, I sit in a pale pink front bedroom of a three bedroom, two-bath (plus sunroom!) ranch, a block from an elementary school and a slew of soccer fields and a solid ten minutes from, like, the rest of civilization. It’s the house my parents just bought. It’s the house they will probably live in until my siblings and I move them into some very well rated nursing home (or the east wing of my brother’s mansion, whichever actually happens). This will be the house our future spouses meet our parents in, where every Christmas from now on will happen, where I come to when everything else feels foreign and scary.

Have I mentioned it is in Bloomington, Indiana?

And that it is fifteen minutes from my grandparents?

Yeah, so about that…

My parents moved. Again. This time, really, will be the last one. Here, in the middle of southern Indiana.

For those of you who don’t know, I grew up a military brat. I moved up and down and across coasts until I was fourteen. Then, by the blessing of a very tolerant mother and a deal I made when I was ten and high school was going to be just like Saved by the Bell, we stayed in Virginia Beach. And we stayed there for nine years. It’s a shame few of my friends will know that house. The one with my red room. A lot went on within those walls.

Ten moves by the time I was fourteen. Two colleges. San Diego. Mali. And here we all land in Indiana.

My parents had different upbringings. My Mom grew up at the Jersey Shore. Born and bred. My Dad grew up right here in Bloomington. That’s why we are back. His parents still live here. I think there has been a Carter living in this town as far back as one can count, probably even before the university was established. His high school still stands. He went to college here. This is home. He doesn’t even need a map to get around! He remembers! When we were in Wal Mart there were T-shirts with his high school written all over them. We are constantly surrounded by his collegiate alma mater.

So we came here. To be close to family. For my Dad to retire. And I think a little, to get away from Southern California.

My Mom and I started to dream a little about living in the Midwest. I mean, you hear about how everyone knows everyone, how people are nicer, how things are slower. And, you know, they grow corn.  Factually, we knew very little about Bloomington before we got here. We knew it’s where Indiana University is and we knew it did not have a Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, or Anthropologie (which if you ask me, these are all pretty crucial elements). But secretly I think Mom and I were both dreaming of Main Street, of local stores, and small pharmacies, of hardware stores that have family names attached to them, and old movie theatres.

So far, in the twenty-four hours that I’ve been here I can tell you, traffic is light, people in Wal Mart say excuse me, and there is a Target.

Still, I’m excited to be a Midwesterner. I am still looking for the ocean—I mean what are these lakes you speak of and what makes them so great?—but in actuality, I’m sure this will be lovely. Sure, I’ll technically be from Indiana, but have no idea how to get anywhere, and yes, I can’t show anyone where I went to school or the hospital I was born in, but this is where my parents are, and I have long ago learned that home is what’s inside the four walls, not the four walls themselves.

I guess there is Main Street somewhere. And maybe people use Lowe’s. And YES they could totally use some decorating advice (and fashion…and hair…) I’d be more than happy to help with. But people from the Midwest are loud and proud about where they are from, and perhaps, I’ll adapt a little bit of pride from my adopted region. Who knows, maybe whatever is in the corn will get me hooked, and before you can say GO HOOSIERS I’ll find myself permanently at home in one of these fly over states.

And maybe, when all is said and done, we are all home people.

PS—I could really get use to the Midwest way of eating. My grandmother was bomb and cooked mashed potatoes and mac and cheese. I’m gonna need to up these running miles!  

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