We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Well, then I'm only 45   Up until three weeks ago, this was my typical response. After all... I sleep well through the night. Watch what I eat. I'm on no medications and rarely take pain relievers. My mobility is good. My natural hair color is more salt-than-pepper, but at least I have hair (and LOTS of it) 😊 Yep, I'm in the prime of life: we have enough energy to travel, enough financial resources (although the stock market could stand to rally again...), and most importantly, we have our health. But really, we're 62 However, this most recent move has revealed our shortcomings. We simply do not have the stamina we once did. And if we try to push ourselves -- like climbing up and down the stairs of our split-level home at least 50 times to move boxes -- or lying down for hours on a gravel pad site to level the rig -- our bodies remind us of our actual age. We both are type-A personalities. We create long to-do lists. And we chastise ourselves when we don't accompli...

  I am a ball of emotions. Exhausted from packing and moving all our stuff in two short weeks. Weary of sciatica discomfort that prevents me from sleeping well at night. Excited to embark on this new chapter in life. Sad to leave our home of 27 years. At some point, I will write about these events in more detail. But today I will attempt to share my feelings in a different way. I am no poet (as you will soon see) ... but this idea grabbed me so I ran with it. Goodbye, House  (written in the style of Goodnight, Moon by Margaret Wise Brown) In the cozy little Nook There was a desk, a couch, and a shelf full of books There were journals and pens And scrapbooking bins. And many wonderful memories spent within. But the Paris room was also a favorite sight. With its year-round Christmas tree and twinkling lights. The Beach room reminded us of past vacations, And the possibility of new retirement locations. The Master Bedroom was no designer showcase But provided us a tranquil sleep...

Seashells have fascinated me for decades! When I was in elementary school, Dad took the family to Galveston Beach. While I vaguely remember building a sandcastle, I fondly recall spending my allowance on a cellophane-wrapped basket filled with seashells. Years later, I would still spend hours sorting through the shells and organizing them by size - or shape - or color - or type.  This fascination continued through middle school, when I chose Seashells as the topic for my first research paper. I used big words like cephalopods, scaphopods, and bivalves. While I wasn't terribly interested in the creatures that lived within - or the scientific jargon - I sure thought they looked pretty 😊 To this day, I much prefer a beach that encourages shelling to one that sports large rocks or white sugar sand. Fortunately, Sargent Beach, Texas is the perfect fit. I like to walk the beach at low tide. The firm sand makes the perfect pavement, and the shells provide a nice distraction from exercis...

  In 2011 Geoff gifted me with a solo two-week trip to Paris. Without going into the details, he allowed me to live out a thirty-year dream to spend my junior year abroad. I booked a one-bedroom apartment in the Montmartre section of the city and began to research all the possibilities: a wine tour of the Loire Valley -- daily walks through Tuilleries Gardens -- brunch at the famed Moulin de la Galette. I embraced the adventure... until it was time to board the plane. At which time my Enneagram 6 brain went into high gear. A litany of "what if..." scenarios bombarded my thoughts. The realization of facing the unknown threatened my extreme need for security.  As is typical of "what if..." scenarios, none of them came to pass. I breezed through customs. I hailed a taxi at the airport. I directed the cab driver to the right address.  However, every single morning I faced a crippling decision: dare I walk out the front door --- away from the safety of my apartment and i...

  This is not the blog post I expected to write the first week of 2022. I expected to detail the packing process for our long-awaited snowbird trip --- which was scheduled to begin January 8th.  I expected to share, with great anticipation, our plans to leave the frigid Midwest for the warm Texas Gulf. I expected to report we are T-minus 2 days to take off. But sometimes the best-laid plans are just not meant to be. Unexpected Situation #1 We had to say goodbye to our dear, sweet Buddy. To be honest, I wasn't sure if Buddy would like RVing. I wasn't sure he could navigate the steps to get in and out of the rig. But he was a trooper! As long as he was with his humans, Buddy was content. In October the vet told us his internal organs were expanding. Due to his advanced age (he recently turned fourteen), the vet recommended we do nothing. Let Buddy enjoy life and he will let us know when it is time to go. In November, Buddy fell going up the stairs. He wasn't injured, just stu...

Through a Facebook post this weekend, we learned of the passing of a very dear friend 😢 Kenneth F. Mott was our beloved Political Science professor. And somehow (fortunately), we became dear friends. Ken was my faculty advisor and encouraged me to seek departmental honors. He walked me through the LSATs. And he understood my decision not to apply to law school. Ken adored Geoff. The two of them would often debate politics for hours on end. At the time, they rooted for opposite parties, but that was a time when you could agree to disagree and still remain friends. Our fondest memory of Ken and his wife, Lovette, was going to the stream. The stream provided a great escape from the Gettysburg College campus. We were free to be ourselves without all the bravado of impressing fellow co-eds.  One infamous weekend we volunteered to bring dinner. We remembered the steak, the potatoes, the aluminum foil. We even brought matches to start a fire and silverware. However, we failed to bring th...