Monday, May 30, 2011

New Home

I wasn’t delusional. I knew that moving into my own space would not be a fantasy come true. I did not know I would get so excited to see how cheap Ramen noodles still are…I nearly wept in the aisle…nor could I have forseen how disappointed I’d be when I realized I couldn’t microwafe the Styrofoam container. That was when I realized I had nothing to boil water in…and then came the realization that I didn’t even have a pot to piss in, if I so chose.

What I’m trying to say is that I have, at 30 years old, moved into a place that is mine. Yes, it’s an old hotel room that the owners were kind enough to let me move my stuff into….no it doesn’t have a kitchen. Its like living in a dorm room…only less fun because there aren’t any wild parties to go to down the hall, no crazy frat boy streakers….
I have a neighbor that mumbles about a sick cat all day and walks around in her pj’s, and a guy that keeps a cone in front of his apartment so no one takes his wife’s parking space. I know…you are all jealous.

Being on my own is strange though. I had it pointed out to me that I can watch tv whenever I want….yeah, that isn’t all its cracked up to be. I’m almost to the point that I WANT to talk about the lost, sick cat with the neighbor.

Like I said, its an old hotel, in the heart of Branson, right off Hwy 76, or ‘the strip’ as us locals call it. I can see a giant swing from the front of the place, I get to hear Titanic’s horn at noon every day, see shadows of helicopters on the trees. From the end of my building, and just over the tree tops, I can see a giant chicken wearing a vest. It’s a restaurant…I didn’t put it there…don’t judge me.

Yes I have to drive behind crazy people from flat places like Nebraska, or slow drivers from Texas…but when I leave I see the smiling faces of people enjoying my city. Yes, its my city. It always has been. I was born here, after all.

When I was a kid, I had a normal house, like everyone else. But my home was an old homestead on top of the ‘mountain’. My dad was there in the fall, making pork rinds…my grandmother and sister worked in the ice cream shop, my brother worked in the restaurant. My mom worked her own food stands and by the time I was 8 she had her own little place there, with a kitchen and tables where people could eat and listen to music. The music came from a man’s guitar, a man that was like family in his own way, a man that would take short breaks during the day and I would stand on his little stage and sing for the people that had NOT come from all over to see me. Down the hill, my other sister was an actress in a show for the people who rode in trams. When I wasn’t singing? I was riding those trams, over and over again, joining in for every group photo, listening to them chatter on and laugh at my sister’s crazy antics. That place is called Shepherd of the Hills. Its changed a lot since then, but every time I pass it, I smile and remember my first home.
My first job was at a theme park, called Silver Dollar City. I made jewelry. I hugged the sister of a boy I was in love with over the counter there. I dove under the counter when I thought I had seen someone I’d rather not have seen.
The place I found my first job after my world crashed down a year ago, was in Branson at a theatre where a woman took a chance on me. What she didn’t realize, and perhaps still doesn’t, is that working for her changed my life. It made me believe in myself again and realize that I could be the person that I wanted to be. She trusted me and made me laugh when I needed it most. The people I met there…they all changed me…including a few tourists. They told me stories, they stuck around after the show so I could see them in their traditional Scottish dress, they hugged me and made me laugh. They ALL made my life a little more bearable.
When the time came to find a new job this spring, I knew that the only place I wanted to be was back here, in Branson…where I found another woman to take a chance on me. I’m LOVING my new job. No, it isn’t perfect in every way…but its something I love doing, in a place I love, for a cause I love.

The place is small…the place is lonely…but its my place. Its home to me now…whatever that even means anymore. But I’m finding out. I’m going to find my way….and I’m going to do it in Branson.

2 comments:

mylife1982 said...

I'm from Cleveland, OH and moved to Atlanta, AG about a year ago on my own with my son and your post kinda made me tear up thinking of my time when I moved here...Congrats on YOUR OWN place HUGE succcess:)

Kendra said...

Thanks You. Its definitely not easy...I have so much more to post about it, I just haven't been able to. I will in a couple days. Thanks for commenting :).