All Dressed Up and No Where to Go!

Now it's time to wait...............

I feel like a senior in high school. Remember those feelings? Torn between being incredibly ready for that next big thing after graduation while simultaneously being sad that a part of life was coming to an end. That whole year in the back of your mind was...."It's the last time I will........., well, you can fill in the blank. And it all seemed to go so fast. High school was over in the blink of an eye. Everybody told you it was a 'best time of your life'. I always suspected older people who said that had high school safely viewed with rose colored glasses from the perspective of hindsight.



On the other hand, that senior year rolled by like molasses. Everybody still treated me like I was a kid or something. From my eighteen year old vantage point, didn't these people know that I was grown. I was ready to leave the nest, sprout my wings, get out into the world. I was done with all this kid stuff - let's get on with it. Graduation was never going to arrive.



The same thing is now happening to me at the age of almost 60 - well, OK, I'll be 60 in just under 12 months, but it sounds better to say 'I'm 60'. Back to the point. Forty eight years after high school, I'm now having all those same eighteen year old's feelings. The house is ready. We're poised, ready to drive out of town, get the show on the road, and take off. Let's get on with the plan! Simultaneously, every time I go somewhere, I'm thinking, "Is this the last visit to this place for who knows how long?"



I'm struck anew by the comfort of the quality of life in Hurst. I know where everything is. I know when anything changes. I'll see people I know well or know casually almost every place I go in the course of a normal day. (My favorite happened this week: I'm getting a massage from Scott. He mentions that he's got to get Ryan, his son, ready for a big weekend because Ryan is dating Gabby Navarro's daughter and it's her Quincinera. Well, I've been casually acquainted with Gabby for years since she's the owner of Michelito's where we eat Mexican food at least twice a month, and she's dating Chris who was our exercise instructor for about 6 months. I mention this, and Scott replies, oh, yeah, Chris gave Ryan his hockey equipment. Not too many degrees of separation in Hurst!) We're comfortable with our neighbors and have a 'neighborhood' that feels like it's ours. I suppose after 19 years, it should.



Now, I'm starting to wonder how it's going to feel for everything to be different. The simple things - like where's the grocery store, and oh, do they have tortillas? Will I be freaked out and ultimately depressed by constant 'difference', or will I be exhilarated by the experience? I'm hedging with an Iphone so I can take advantage of Google maps to lessen the 'oh, crap, lost again' feeling. Again the flip side of the coin arrives. I'm eager to try new churches. I want to see what other places do for mission. How will they receive a stranger in their midst? How will God call upon me. After watching Ken Burns' film on the National Parks, I can hardly wait to see some new ones. I'm ready for a different climate, and new vegetation. I want new theaters, ballet companies, and to meet new people. I'm ready to break out of the routine.



Just waiting. Patiently some days when I'm feeling nostalgic, and not so patiently other days when I can hardly wait to start this new life.



Know anybody that wants to buy a house? I have one for sale in a great town.

We're Officially On the Market

The time to change my mind has officially passed. Our house is listed for sale ($210,000). It's never looked better inside or out. Why is it that I FINALLY took off the dead wallpaper in the bathroom, and repainted the woodwork and baseboards that have looked really dinged up for at least five years just to sell it? I think it must be human nature. We settle in and feather up our nest - in my case with a zillion photographs of Sarah Lynn. Then we get so comfortable that we never even really see what we're living in or living with - you know, the handle that always falls off, or the dirt spot on the wall you keep meaning to wash/repaint. Then, one day, you decide, let's sell! Suddenly all those little dings, gotchas, and sometimes major ugliness comes to the forefront as if scales have fallen from our eyes. So now, I have a beautiful house ready for someone else.

At this point the question is how much stuff does it take to make a nest? Drake has cheerfully weighed and measured EVERYTHING we own. There's method to his madness (and frankly, at times it has seemed a bit looney tunes). The reason for all the precision is that we will have a limited amount of storage space, and a limited amount of weight we can pull. We've settled on a 5x10 cargo trailer, and we'll probably have one built especially for us in Waco.

Think about it.................5x10 - plus a car trunk. What would you take? What would you store with the expectation that you wouldn't see most of the stuff for five years. Interesting questions. So far, no big arm waving yelling matches over what we will/won't take. We're pretty much on the same page. We need 2 comfortable chairs, 2 end tables, 2 mattresses, 1 table, 2 folding chairs, 1 Tv, 2 micro stereo systems, 3 tubs of kitchen stuff, a couple of suitcases of seasonal clothes, our tent, some linens/towels/blankets, my sewing maching & a traincase of sewing and embroidery stuff. We're considering selling our PC and replacing it with a lap top (that's 40 lbs we can save, Jan). I'm scanning my pictures into the computer to load my electronic picture frame to take with me. That's about it.

It's getting pretty real, folks.

You're Going to do What?

Reactions to the "plan" were interesting. Basically, the reactions were polar opposites. At one end of the spectrum were the folks who said, WOW! That sounds terrific. I wish I could do that. The other end of the spectrum were more tactful. What they really wanted to say was No Way! Not for me. Are you crazy? What that end of the spectrum actually said was, "But what about your house?" "You mean you won't have a home base?" or "Oh, I couldn't give up my stuff."

Stuff. That is the crucial issue. Everyone (even the big time nesters) wanted to go see new places.........but, give up your "stuff" to do it? Even the most enthusiastic supporters of the vagabond idea began to waffle when I quizzed them about their furniture, their dishes, their china, crystal, pictures, and knickknacks and what they would discard. "Oh, I didn't think about that." "You're only taking 6 feet by 10 feet of stuff? That's not very much, is it?" No, it's not very much. I'm going to find out if it's adequate, or if I feel deprived or just uneasy without the visible signs of my life around me.

I have been continually amazed at the hidden stuff that's popped up when we got serious about the idea of vagabonding. Now, Drake and I aren't packrats by anyone's definition. I have always prided myself on cleaning out all the drawers and closets every 12 months. The St. Paul Garage Sale has been a big incentive in that direction, but truthfully, I was raised to keep things not only clean but orderly. You can't be orderly if you can't close the drawer or closet door or if you have to resort to stacking boxes in your garage instead of parking your car in it. (Sound familiar to anyone?) That lifestyle was totally unacceptable when I was growing up. If you couldn't neatly store it, then out it went.

Drake is even less of a packrat than I am. He moved roughly every 18 months throughout his childhood. The four years we spent at the University of Oklahoma was the longest he's ever lived in one place, and he got a new dorm room/apartment every year he lived there. When you have that childhood experience, you learn not to get too attached to things - especially heavy things. Another reason for Drake's lack of interest in possessions is that his childhood pattern was for his Dad to leave and go on to the new job in the new town leaving Drake and his mother to cope with the move. As he got older, Drake was the "muscle" doing the shifting and carrying required.

Basically, he and I have always been pretty much on the same page although I will admit to more of an attachment to sentimental possessions. Point in case: Drake sold his turntable and all his rock and roll albums - some of which he's had since the early 1970's. It didn't even phase him. There's the difference between us, when he finds his hidden stuff - he gets rid of it or sells it. Me, on the other hand....

I really thought that I was totally on top of the "possession thing". Then we went up to the attic, and we re-discovered the suitcases packed with toddler toys and Barbie detritus. I admit that I didn't throw them out - but I did cull them. (FYI: Dead, blond Barbies sell like hotcakes at garage sales.) I found Uncle Wiggly at the top of the game closet. I guess that's telling in itself - I have a "game" closet. A double top shelf filled with board games, puzzles, binoculars, dominoes, and playing cards. We drastically reduced those items realizing we don't need 10 decks of playing cards or 10 puzzles, most of which I had already worked. Hidden stuff.

I found boxes and boxes of greeting cards. Yep. That's where that sentimental attachment comes in. I have greeting cards that have been given/sent to me for the past 40 years. My first greeting cards are from 1969. What I'm really proudest of is that they are all dated on the back. What I'm not proud of is that they are totally useless. I organized them by year, and they covered by dining room table from top to bottom. It was interesting to see that we repeated some cards - liked them so well we bought them more than once. They are COMPLETELY WORTHLESS. I couldn't throw them away. Don't ask me. It's irrational. It must be the same knee jerk reaction packrats have about EVERYTHING. It makes no sense - and I can't even fall back on the old chestnut: "But I might need these someday."

Another group of my hidden, well, actually not so hidden stuff are my pictures. When you enter my house, the pictures in frames are everywhere. Now, obviously, I can't take them with me, and I really don't want to store them in the frames. Then I have the negatives and the hard copy photos. And, I not only have mine, but I have my mother's and Drake's Grandmother's pictures. It's a huge job. My next job, in fact. I'm going to have to take my hard hearted pills the day I begin to figure out what to do. Right now the plan is "scanner". I think if I can scan everything into a computer, then I can be ruthless with the hard copies - especially the 4x6 photos from my mother - she believed if one picture was good, then 5 more must be better. I've spent a great deal of time standing/sitting/posing for flash pictures while my mother said, "just one more."

And my rocks. Do I get to take them? (Probably not - too much weight.) Am I going to store them? Does anyone really need 50 pounds of pebbles? Yes........I do. They are momentoes of vacations. I have rocks from all over the United States. I even like to play with my rocks and create rock sculptures. Yes, you don't have to tell me - bizarro, but cherished.

When you take into account the greeting cards, the photos and the rocks, Drake starts to roll his eyes. He just doesn't know how lucky he is. I could save string and tin foil, oh, and cottage cheese cartons.

Hatching the Idea

Have you ever decided to reinvent your life, and then commit to repeating the process every six months? Stop reading for a second and look around. Who are you? How much of "you" is your possessions and the places they sit? How important is the cocoon of community that subtly surrounds you from the clerk at the cleaners, to the pew you sit in at church, to the parks your child played in, to the roads you know by heart. Will you keep your friends if you "move away" and the contact becomes electronic rather than face to face? Can you be accepted and create community if you only stay in a place for six months? Those are some of the myriad of questions that I'm trying to answer as Drake and I start our vagabonding plan.

It all began two years ago. We had just retired, Drake by choice and I by force. We had fulfilled one of Drake's mosted cherished "when I retire" dreams by attending Spring Training for the Texas Rangers in Arizona. We were winding up a 30 day road trip, and neither one of us was eager to pick up our real life again. Now, driving across West Texas is like having a cavity filled - necessary, but not something you'd choose to do. I lazily asked the question, "Why can't be travel like this more often?" Drake's laconic reply, "We can't afford the $100 price to have a bed and pillow each night we are gone from home." I'm sure you can guess my next question: "Well, why do we have to have a 2100 square foot house in Hurst, Texas?"

That was the key question. We both thought about the time it takes to maintain our home. We clean it, repair it, paint it, decorate it, rake the leaves, cut the grass, and on and on. Those are just major categories. If you just break down "clean it" - I'm talking about vacuuming, floor mopping 1100 square feet of tile, carpet shampooing the other 1000 feet, cleaning 2.5 bathrooms, dusting all the furniture, window washing, kitchen cleaning........... You get the picture, and my housekeeping efforts could be charitably described as grudging and minimalist. It slowly sank in that we were spending an inordinate amount of time maintaining our possessions. Why were we doing this? We really couldn't come up with compelling reasons other than "it's our home" and "it's a habit".

Once you break the bond of needing a home, then lots of possibilities open up. We thought about and quickly discarded the "motor home lifestyle". We both agreed that just putting your possessions on your back, living in an area the size of a big hotel room, and still having to spend time and effort in maintenance wasn't for us. Those motor homes, travel trailers, 5th wheelers, and buses don't have fairies to keep them functioning, and they are so big that you really can't "go anywhere" when you have one. (Actually, we did run into a couple who lived in a motor home the size of a camper on the back of a truck. It looked really nice and REALLY SMALL.) However, I digress.

We hatched the plan on the high plains. The question became, "Where do we want to go?" The answer was, "Everywhere we've ever wanted to see, or anywhere we want to go back to where we felt like we just scratched the surface in a 2 week vacation." We came home with a fully formed idea. What would it be like to live in a different location around the country every six months taking with us only what we could load into a 6x10 trailer which we would pull to each new location with our car. We called the idea vagabonding. For the record, vagabond means moving from place to place without a fixed home.

This idea unlike many off the wall, out of the box, thoughts was initially exciting to contemplate and kept getting more exciting as we hashed it out driving across the vastness of the Llano Estacado. (For you non-Texans, that's the old time Spanish term for West Texas - it means 'staked plain'. That is what the early Spanish explorers did. They drove stakes each one visible from the last since the terrain had no distinguishable landmarks as navigation aids. Why in God's name anyone would want to explore West Texas remains beyond me, but, hey, the Spanish were a greedy lot, and they thought they might find some gold they could steal.)

Back to the plan. The internet is making the vagabonding plan a reality. We pay our bills on-line, and most of our bills are now paperless. We bank at a national bank with branches everywhere. We can pick a location (Charlottesvilla, Virginia, for instance) and survey apartment rents, cost of living, climate, geography, attractions, and a host of other things because of the internet. There's even an internet mail service that collects your mail, filters it, and send on to you the important stuff - It's an electronic post office box. And...........you don't have to kiss your friends goodbye knowing that slowly but surely due to lack of contact and interaction, those friendships will dwindle to an annual Christmas card. Cell phones now let your carry your phone number with you everywhere and all your friends' phone numbers. That expensive, sparingly used means of contact the long distance telephone call is now a dodo bird in terms of today's phone technology. Don't even let me get started on email and blogs.


The computer lets you share your thoughts, write a book, send pictures, and record your fears and triumphs with your friends. It will map the routes to new grocery stores and the shoe repair shop easing that "Oh my God, I'm lost" feeling in the new locale. Computer searches allow you to winnow choices without ever having to leave your desk. This is all utterly amazing to me since I remember life before electronic technology. Vagabonding would not have been possible 10 years ago.

So, this is going to be easy, right? Well, no, not exactly. We had to postpone the implementation due to family crisis. That has turned out to be a blessing in disguise because we've had time to ponder what this vagabond idea will really mean. We've had time to refine the concept. and the concept just isn't going away as some crackpot idea we dreamed up to pass the time driving across West Texas.

In the past six months it's gotten real. As it sinks in that we will really be leaving the home and community we have known for 20 years, issues have begun to arise that we didn't give much weight to two years ago. How much storage space are we going to need? What do we sell? What do we keep? What do we take? Where are we going? There will be lots of negotions and decisions involving a shared life of 40 years.

I suppose this journal, blog, book, whatever it turns out to be will be a reflection on just what I started with: How important are my possessions and the place I reside? How much do I need a carefully built up and interconnected community? What do I really want for the next five years? What will make me happy? How important is routine? Will moving every six months become a staggering chore, or will each time be an exciting adventure. I think we are going to find out.