We moved out of our apartment in Santa Barbara last weekend.
Well, mostly out. There are still a few things at the old place and it needs to
be cleaned up, so a part of me is still there.
When we moved from the Bay Area to Santa Barbara, I had a
hard time finding a place that would fit our needs. There are only two of us
but I wanted to be sure there would be room for family when they came to visit.
I’ve always wanted the home that my kids and grandkids could
come back to and a one-bedroom apartment wasn’t exactly my dream home. But we
made it work.
My final trip to Florida to visit my son and his wife Amber was August of 2011. I picked that time to go for two reasons: One to help them move to Mississippi but more importantly, to meet my first grandchild.
In May of 2010 my son graduated from the Naval Academy and married his high school sweetheart the very next day. Then they started their lives together as a military family. By August of that year I was back to help them move to Florida, where my son would begin training as a pilot. Continue reading
I’m sitting down to write at a beautiful, peaceful setting that I want to share with you. I helped my son move this week, and it was a bit stressful, but to top it off, I caught my husband’s cold (yes, I’m throwing you under the bus John).
For the last two days I’ve been surviving on DayQuil and NyQuil, which has helped, but I’m still having trouble breathing.
So I’m going to keep this short, and go lay back down for a little while.
Our trip up to Oregon was a good one, with our first stop at my best friends house. She had a wonderful meal prepared for us when we arrived and we were treated like family, as usual. Continue reading
I was going to start this post by saying, I couldn’t believe I was standing in a multi-million dollar home about to endure my third interview, but that’s not entirely true.
I could believe it.
From the moment I first saw the ad for the position on Craigslist, I knew this was going to be my job. I just needed to convince the impeccably dressed, statuesque woman shaking my hand, of that. Continue reading
I moved to Bend, Oregon in 1978 and never dreamed that I’d end up staying for over 30 years. I was just 19 when I first arrived in that little town, and so much had changed over the years.
But by 2009, I couldn’t wait to leave. My kids were grown and off to start their own lives, my friendships had changed so much I could barely recognize them, and my business was no longer paying the bills.
Last Saturday I was on the West Coast helping one son move. This Saturday I’m on the East Coast helping another son (and his family) move, and the weather is not cooperating. It’s so cold and wet here!
But the weather won’t stop us because there is so much work to do. As you can see, we are very busy!
I hope your weekend is full of fun, even if there’s work to do!
Busy weekend helping someone move. Why is moving so hard?
Whether one room or many, moving is a difficult process. Why is that, do you suppose? We are helping one son move this weekend, and then I’ll be heading East in a few days to help another son and his family move.
I’m excited that all of our kids will be in California soon. We will have a full house for a few days, while everyone gets settled in, but that will make for a wonderful Christmas.
Make it a great weekend…no matter what you are doing.
I got married at 21 in a big church, by the justice of the peace.
We had planned to get married in the Catholic Church. But things don’t always turn out as planned.
Getting married in the Catholic Church requires that the couple go through a training of sorts. So we went to classes and counseling with the priest who was to marry us. Things were going okay, until the priest started telling us what the ceremony would look like.
I remember sitting in his tiny office next to Joe as we listened to him tell us this was his ceremony and no, we would not be allowed to say our own vows to each other. I also remember that with just a glance to each other we made the decision that this was not for us.
The best thing about moving is you get to start over. No one knows you or your history. There’s no long-established notion of who you are.
That’s how I felt at 19 in Bend, Oregon. I was determined to make a fresh start. Growing up in a small town in the Midwest was a little bit like growing up in a fish bowl. It’s not that all 2,000 of us knew each other; it’s more that it just felt that way.
Bend was two thousand miles away, away from my old life, and away from being the poor farm kid. With a staggering population of 15,000 people, for me it felt like a big city, and it was love at first sight.
I left Michigan for the last time when I was 18. One freezing cold day in February of 1978, I was done. Done with school, done with the weather, done with that small town, and done with a relationship. It was time to move on.
My chance came when a friend was going to Springfield to visit her father and stepmother. She didn’t want to go alone, and asked if I would go with her. I came up with the $86 one-way plane ticket and packed a small yellow suitcase. Before I knew it, we were on a plane bound for Missouri.