I worked for a large reptile wholesaler for a time.  This particular wholesaler had a fondness for very large pythons.  There were several gargantuan Burmese pythons at this place.  Female Burmese pythons can get really, really huge–20 foot plus huge and wider around than a truck tire.  While they are mellow snakes not prone to biting (Thank God), that huge body is controlled by a tiny little brain.  As a result, any time we would go to feed the Burmese, it would require two people.  One person to feed, one to “spot”.  The spotter’s job was to get the snake off you should it mistake you for its dinner. 

Now the Burmese, they ate pigs.  Yeah, pigs.  Small pigs, but still, PIGS.  One warm summer day, I got to work and was greeted by the nastiest smell in the universe.  The large female Burm had upchucked her pig.  I had to clean it as the other employee was incapacitated by repeated bouts of his own barfing (poor guy).  So yeah, it was as gross as you can imagine.

Fast forward four years and I have a kid.  For those of you who don’t have children, let me describe some of the things that will get on other things with a small child around.  They will piss on the floor.  They will barf on the sofa, the car, your bed.  They will wipe boogers on the walls.  They are friggin gross.  However, because of my prior experience and survival of cleaning up huge snake vomit, I was inured to this aspect of child rearing.  So there’s a silver lining to snake barf.

My husband’s comment watching our daughter listen to his iPod:

“We had to listen to the same band five songs in a row and then turn it over for another five songs”. LOL.

There’s an interesting essay in this month’s issue of Metropolis called Where’s Home.  It explores the meaning of this emotional idea in a country where people move–on average–every five years.  We are such a transient country I think in part because of two things: Hope springs eternal in the U.S. (a nice thing) and our culture, which focuses on the accumulation of things and being happy at all costs (the two things are not really related but the advertisers sure like us to think they are), the American idea of–You Can Always Do Better (not such a nice thing).

There have been people moving out of Bradburn since we’ve lived here the past four years.  A lot of that time it’s because of a job change and the people who are moving really don’t want to.  One lovely couple that lived on my street got a job offer they couldn’t refuse in a Midwest state and hated to leave but luckily found another new urbanist community in their new state and love it there also.  Other times moving is due to divorce or other sad life events.   But there have been a few that have moved because they just thought it was time, they wanted something different.

I have to admit when people tell me they are moving and I ask why (because I’m nosy like that, ask any of my neighbors) and they don’t say a reason that’s really beyond their control, it comes, like a reflex almost to me (I say it in my head, not out loud)–”How could you? Why would anyone want to leave?”.  Sometimes I joke our neighborhood is like “Hotel California” (the “you can check out but never leave” part).  I also silently think–if you can’t be happy in this neighborhood I can’t imagine you will be happy anywhere–which is of course, judgemental–different strokes for different folks and all that.

Moving often doesn’t allow for people to develop a true connection to place, which has a variety of negative effects–social isolation, less community involvement, less care for the environment.  I can’t help to think this is part of the reason so much of our grand country looks like unmitigated crapola–endless series of strip malls, big box stores, horrific, cheap housing that isn’t.  It looks like that because people don’t really care too much–they’re just going to move somewhere else soon.  Except there isn’t anywhere “else” really in this country–it all (with some exceptions of course) pretty much looks the same–crappy.