We Shall Live in Either the North, or the Semi-South

That would be "semi-south" because moving any farther down than the border of Ohio would be so not cool. Literally.

I lived in the deep South for quite a while. I sweated and got sand in my eyes in Texas. I withered in the humidity of Florida. Eight years in the South, all told, and unless something exceedingly drastic happens (e.g. I'm offered 7.5 million dollars if I'll just live in the Bible Belt for a year), I will not live there again.

My mother, on the phone from Mississippi, often comments that we should just move on down near them. La-dee-dah! Just move on down! Into the 105 degree, sweltering backwater around Jackson! Move on down, Dear! Everyone here adores Wal-Mart, and harbors a suspicious attitude toward any "Yankees" from north of Kentucky! It's whimsical! I haven't the heart to tell her I'd sooner have all my teeth pulled and replaced with thumb tacks.

Sharp, sharp, thumb tacks.

Moving on. So it looks as though we'll either move to Traverse City, which I would adore, or to Cincinnati, which I would still be happy about, but would adore only slightly less since, as far as I know, Lake Michigan's gorgeous beaches and dunes do not touch Cincinnati. No, after some thought, they certainly do not. Nevertheless, I would be happy with either city. Both have their merits. Both are real, thriving cities with art, culture, and interesting things. Yay for both.

It's just the "not knowing which thing will be happening" (or when) that drives me crazy.