Steinbeck 2010

I had all these big plans to write another epic adventure story. Picture this. Modern day frontier woman battles 2" of ice and 8" of snow to load her husband, two dogs and all the worldly goods from 18 years of living into a big truck heading west. I was Steinbecking all over the place. Taking pictures. Making notes. An epic.

Well, it took driving through 3 days of snow and pet friendly hotels to get to our final state line. I had all my vet paperwork in hand to guarantee entrance for my buddies. But it was late, the little dog barked, the border guard jumped and the only thing they wanted to see was inside the truck, looking for houseplants. The husband made it. I made it. Even the two dogs and the notes made it. What's missing? All my photos to go with my epic modern day adventure story.

First, I know why no one makes a major move in the winter. For one thing, you have to answer, "Are you crazy it's snowing," with "We don't have a choice," a thousand times. Still doesn't work, but you do get a good discount on trucks that no one else wants to rent because, well, it's snowing and only a crazy person would drive an 18' foot truck loaded with furniture through the snow. We know. We know.

You know all those helpful articles about empty nesters wanting to pare down the nest? Make things simpler? Maintain less, so you can have more time to, well, be an empty nester? Throw them away. What really happens is a weird saunter down memory lane that brings back visions of every success, celebration, and failure you've survived since the last time you decided to move across the country. I can say this, having landed safely on the other side of a much smaller nest. It does not happen over night. You actually peel back layers and layers, giving up a little at a time. The piles get smaller and fewer. With each load sent to Goodwill, sold to a neighbor and auctioned on EBay, another little bit of weight comes off. Until finally, your husband looks at you and says the truck is full. Then you have a mad rush of stuffing what's left in your piles into every available cubbyhole and the space where you're going to put your feet.

So what if you get 2 states away before you realize he left all of your big plant pots and your favorite tools because the storage shed was his job? So what if you miss the big rubber tub you got on sale that was perfect for giving the dogs a bath? At least you have each other. And the two dogs. In a truck.

When you get 3 states away, you stop crying because you will miss your daughter and you're in laws and even the neighbors. At four states you begin to get excited about what the new house will look like with all of your hand picked treasures settled in place. Will the style be different? Did I keep enough? Too much? Will I have to shop?

And finally you hit your new home state. The dogs no longer want to get in the truck at rest stops. You're sick of eating hamburgers. You're sore from being bounced. And there better not be a perfect spot in my new yard for all my big pots that didn't make it on the truck. Or the microwave. And why did I need the treadmill? Will my over sized desk even fit in the door? And on and on and on until you notice the mountains. Glorious redwood covered mountains separating you from a sky full of stars. And the ocean. The air smells great. The roads are twisting and turning and begging for the adventure of our beemer. The dogs are asleep. All is quiet. The load has stopped shifting. And we're sitting in front of our new home away from home.

It's late at night. The house is perfect. Not too big, not too small. The yard for the dogs is fine. Every closet and cupboard is clean and bare. No more sorting, hauling or packing. It's time to rest and unload only the essentials. Out come my oriental rugs to cover all the floors. Every family should have them. They are soft and thick and can be used as beds, chairs and a television stand until the rest of the truck is unloaded.

Four days, 1550 miles of ice, snow and rain later, who cares about clay pots? We're safe. We're together. The new house is perfect. There are whole towns to get to know. There are mountains, valleys, and beaches to conquer. There are 50,000 people I've never seen before, just waiting to cross my path. There are so many stories to be created it makes my head spin. That's when RD told me, he forgot the two-wheeled dolly.

Photo Album