Looking for the Man Who Can't Moved

We’re moving again. Three years rolled by and it will soon be time to leave Connecticut. As we drove around the North Suburbs of Chicago looking at the outside of affordable houses I got to thinking how often I’ve moved. For the purposes of this article I will define ‘home’ as ‘the place you go to when you don’t have to be anywhere else’. That would mean that since leaving my parent’s house in 1984, I have called 11 places home. More startling I realised I hadn’t managed more than a few months over three years in any of them.

I guess I don’t mind it or else I wouldn’t do it but it does affect those around me. Before meeting me my wife had only called three places home. Now she is up to seven (and likely to be eight before 2010 is over). She has only spent about 20% of her life with me. And although not entirely due to me, my eldest son (15) has lived in eight places.

Some of the houses or flats I lived in were only intended to be quick steps along the way but others, notably the flat on the Surbiton/Kingston boarder and the townhouse in Elk Grove Village, were definitely intended to be more permanent.

And the next place? I want it built to last – out of brick, on a solid concrete foundation and I wanna be able to decorate to taste and not to sell. In the words of The Script I want to be ‘The Man Who can’t Be Moved’.

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Bazza