Tired of the blatant consumerism, flippant urban sprawl and outrageous monthly petrol expenditures ($600/mo.!), my brother finally sold his house of cards and said farewell to the Dallas/Fort Worth concrete jungle.
It's been a good four years in Ft. Worth for him and his branch of the Stuart clan, but from all observations it seems they are looking forward to the commodities that a hometown return affords (namely two sets of overly willing baby-watching grandparents, a fifteen minute driving interval to almost anywhere in town, and a personally-initiated eviction from the Lone Star State — beautiful)
So these are interesting times of change in the Stuart family at large. True to our gypsy ways (see my family in the 70s and 80s), we are a fam in motion at present. Here's the skinny:
Sib No. 1: Aaron, 31, aka "The Fatman" — moved to Ft. Worth, Texas with fam in summer '03. Now moving back to Norman this week.
Sib No. 2: Dinah, 28, aka "Chubby Dinah" — continuing to live in Edmond, Okla. Boo. Boring. Where's the gypsy wanderings?
Sib No. 3: Laura, 26, aka "The Chubby Giant" — moved with hubby, Sam (aka "The Tiny Pet") from Norman to Ft. Worth, Texas two weeks ago.
Sib No. 4: Me, 23, aka "Chub Chub" — moving to San Jose, Costa Rica in August '07 (and after that maybe Colorado?).
So, effectively my parents are losing two children and regaining one in the mobilizations. And I suspect with the advent of grandkids in the immediate geographic area that they'll forget about us out-of-state people with a kind of blissful ease.
"Didn't there used to be a few more of you kids?" they'll ask innocently and with passing ambiguity at the dinner table of local family-member gatherings.
"Hmm...seems like there were a few others at one time...hmmm...well, no matter...pass the mashed potatoes this way."
But enough of this bamboozling. Time to kill the fatted calf and light the celebration torches. Welcome back, brother!
Some shots from moving day in Texas:
My bro's fam.
Nephew Joshy working on his Calvin Klein head-shot poses.
Joshy bearing the burden of moving day. And he still calls me "Sam" after my bro-in-law. Lame. I guess we're both tallish, skinnyish dudes who aren't his dad, so it's hard to distinguish us apart. Perhaps we can work on this in the next few weeks. "Uncle JOHN, Joshy." "It's UN-CLE JOH-N."
Nephew Carson blazing down the ramp. I remember doing this exact same thing. One of the best things about moving day, really. You can't beat a good bike ramp.
Carson helping dad.