When we were packing to move into our new house back in 2012, I kept finding dimes. They were everywhere: in boxes, on the floor, in the couch cushions. I assumed that Sean wasn’t keeping track of his loose change but my mum had a different theory. She told me about the superstition of finding dimes in random places. According to the superstition, these dimes were signs from someone who had passed on. A little glimmer to catch your eye and remind you that they were there.

Sean and I both lost our fathers as teenagers. I lost my grandmother soon after that. If the superstition was ever been based in truth, we had people in the Great Unknown that could plausibly be thinking about us as we embarked on a new phase of our lives.

I didn’t give it much thought until we started to unpack at the new house and dimes started showing up again. Logically, it was because they had been packed with all the other things that make up our home, but they kept showing up in weird places. If the superstition was true, someone wanted our attention.

We settled into our home and the flurry of dimes also settled. I find the odd dime next to a pair of discarded pants or at the bottom of my purse. Sensible places that can be explained away. Sometimes I wonder, but mostly I don’t. Those dimes make sense.

I’ve recently started seeing dimes in odd places again. I see them most often on my walks from my car to the GO train platform and back again. I cross the street from one parking lot to another to get to the platform. I don’t see them in the same place every time. I’m usually deep in thought, but I catch the silver glimmer in the corner of my eye and I pause to see of it’s a dime or just a random shiny thing. I confirm what it is and continue on my way.

I’ve always followed the “find a penny, pick it up and all the day, you’ll have good luck” rule. I know it’s another superstition but I’ve always figured it can’t hurt to try to get some luck. Especially when the next line is “find a penny, leave it lay and bad luck you will have all day”.

I never pick up the dimes.

Maybe more dimes are showing up now that Canada has retired pennies and everyone hates nickels*. Maybe another harried commuter has holes in his pants pockets from all the loose change he’s carrying around. Maybe someone I care about is trying to make their presence known from the Great Unknown.

If that’s the case, what do they want?

* Does everyone hate nickels, or is just me? Ever since I was a kid, I’ll see a nickel overlapping a dime and think it’s a quarter. Then I look closer and see the smooth outline and I realize I don’t have enough change for the desired trinket of the moment. Quarters go in gumball machines and grocery carts. Nickels add to your worth in tiny increments. Nickels are obviously not useless but that beaver mocks me when I’m looking for a caribou.

Welcome to suburbia

Well, I’m here. We’re all here. We moved into the new house a couple of weeks ago and while we still have boxes to unpack, we’re mostly settled in.

We’re getting used to having more space than we had before. Space is nice.

Sean and I are figuring out our new routines. We’ve truly joined suburbia and bought a second car. Looking around the neighbourhood, I’m shocked at how many cars are in the driveways. I shouldn’t be surprised about that, but it’s still quite a sight when everyone is home for the night.

We’re still getting used to getting up earlier in the morning. I should probably be in bed right now, but after working late tonight (a not-so-regular occurrence given my preference for spending what few evening hours I have with my family), I needed to get some things done. I also needed to have some by-myself time. I need to make sure I carve out some writing time – I have lots on my mind.

In short: we’ve moved, we’re happy, we’re busy. We’re like every other family in suburbia. And that’s okay.

Moving forward, looking back

February, being the shortest month, always moves quickly. It’s usually a relief when it’s over because then we’re that much closer to spring and nicer weather.

It’s still a relief for those reasons this year, but it’s also felt even shorter due to our upcoming move.

The move we’re making tomorrow.

We spent the last half of January and all of February preparing for moving into our new home. We’ve had lots of help, but we’re still sitting here the night before with lots to do. Of course a lot of those things simply cannot be done until the movers come and take our (piles and piles of) boxes and empty our home.

Our first house. The house Sean and I became a married couple in. Where we raised our child from pregnancy to almost-ready-for-JK. (When did *that* happen?)

I’m excited to go to our new home, but I’m feeling a bit wistful and weepy about leaving this one. We’ve had a good run during the nine years we lived here: nice neighbours, a wonderful daycare provider who we’re heartbroken to leave, a nice sunny deck where we spent a lot of weekend afternoons hanging out.

I’m sure we’ll find those things in our new home, but the unknown is always scary.

There is still so much to do so I feel like I should be doing stuff besides writing and ruminating. If Sean and I get through tomorrow without wanting to kill each other, it will be a miracle. Moving really is one of the most stressful things you can do to yourself. I don’t know how all those HGTV-junkie types do it.

Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 Canada
This work by Melissa Price-Mitchell is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 Canada.
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