When I was a kid in Shaker Heights, one of the hazards of making friends was that you could lose your friend if their father was "being transferred" by his employer to another city. Its something that we all experienced because many of our friends were the children of executives with Eaton Corporation, TRW, Diamond Shamrock, Ford, General Motors, the Federal Reserve, Sohio (BP), NASA or "the rubbers" - Goodyear, Goodrich, Firestone, et. al. Even the kids whose fathers were partners in enormous law firms with offices in major cities could get called up.
Those of us with fathers who were attorney's, business owners, doctors and the like were always left behind; the promise of having something exotic happening to us - like being whisked off to Atlanta, Luxembourg or Brazil because Coca Cola, IBM or Diplomatic Corps needed "father" to head up the "new office" - never was bestowed upon us. No fresh new beginnings. We were trapped, spending our youths outside of Cleveland and that meant doing hard time in Shaker Heights without the chance of a parole to someplace better.
Now, we are the family that is moving with a transfer, and frankly it is as exciting as it is ominous.
First the bad news: the company is refusing to buy our house because husband is a level "three" and not a level "four" employee. This means we have to sell it all ourselves. It also means we could end up with a bridge loan if we find our new house before we sell this one.
The good news is the move is being handled by a relocation company. They coordinate everything. They pack everything. But we can't act on anything until "they" call us. Still, they will do it all, and they will ship the Oldsmobile AND they will help me find a new job.
So we wait. And that is killing us, at the moment, because we are full of exhaustive nervous energy - like small children who have been up too long.
So what happens next? We'll see...