A DIFFICULT MOVE

We are in the midst of a move. My older son Evan moved first. He has been in southern California for a few weeks now and is about to begin studies at a new (for him) college. I drove my wife Monika and younger son Andrew to the airport just days ago. It was still dark when we awakened and the three of us had coffee to keep us awake for the trip to JFK.

There was a heart-wrenching moment when we had the back of the station wagon loaded with their huge suitcases. My wife and I sat in the car while Andrew remained in the house saying goodbye to the Dixie the dog, we thought. But when he did not appear for ten minutes or so, Monika went in to see what was up. She came out looking sad saying she found Andrew walking through the rooms of the house with tears running down his cheeks.

Moving is hard. Andrew who is 17 has lived in this house all his life. I didn’t realize just how important this wooden building on this humble half-acre of land is to him. But we have made up our minds for many reasons, to go. It is time.

The move is all for good, positive reasons. But there is the barrier of leaving a place to get through. Although the barrier is invisible, it is very, very powerful. Now that autumn is arriving in New England, I hope that the warm California sun will make our move seen more right.

All the energy involved in selling the house, keeping it clean and neat to show prospective buyers, has taken its toll. Monika and I are exhausted and I’ve been so consumed and felt so disconnected, I’ve been unable to write.

But now it’s so quiet around here. It’s just me and the dog and I feel the urge to write again. I’ve just polished up my screenplay and am sending it off again—so there’s hope.

But I’m hoping it won’t be long before Dixie and I will be on the road following my family and the sun.