Old Roots, New Roots

Prairie Sunset east of Denver

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

"The best way to institute change

is to let go of those things that just don't fit anymore."

--Ralph F. Couey

It was a warm, lazy late afternoon. Looking across the neat, green grass, I could see our daughter Jamie's sweet dog Neil snoozing in the shade.  Being in Denver, the humidity was very low and there was a breeze, bringing to me a sense of contentment and even peace.  The writer in me loves these moments because its in this environment when the creative gears in my brain become unstuck.  As I look back, I remember how serene it felt to be there in that space in that moment, a moment when I needed some serenity.

It was a whirlwind visit this time, the main purpose of which was to gather up the remainder of our worldly possessions which have been in storage for the past three years and get them shipped to Hawai'i.  There's nothing big left, just a log of boxes and storage bins, more than I remembered, and my reverie is only slightly marred by the wonder of where in our home we're going to put all this stuff.

Home.  I guess its time to start using that word.  

For much of the last almost four years, we've haven't had one of those, only a long succession of extended stay hotels and other people's houses.  Even on our initial relocation here, we stayed in what was then, the home of Cheryl's mother.  Our stay here was never intended to be permanent.  At some undetermined future point in time, we were planning to return to the mainland, the exact location still a matter of discussion and debate.  The key driver in that decision would be the point when Mom would need to move to full-time respite care.  Her dementia is getting steadily worse, although from the neck down, she's as healthy as the proverbial horse.  

However, fate has a way of scuttling even the most contingent best-laid plans.  The first indication that there was debris in the gears was discovering that Mom's long-term care plan, sold to her by a living, breathing shyster, is completely inadequate for her situation.  The disability requiring the institutionalizing must be physical, and complete.  There is absolutely no provision for a mental or memory disability.  We had been casually talking about buying a place, taking advantage of the warp speed increases of home values here.  Once that possibility had been breached, it brought us to the conclusion that the only way to provide for Mom's long-term care was to buy her house and put the proceeds into an account for her future needs.  After getting the go-ahead from the family, we began the process, which completed  back in April.

It was expensive. Scary expensive.  Sleepless nights expensive.  One thing goes wrong and we're toast expensive.  I tell my friends that we have "the world's second-largest mortgage."  Because it feels like that.  

But it was the right thing to do. 

It's an old house, built in 1956, so it's just a year younger than I am.  It has, like all such aged structures, a lot of needs.  The electrical system was designed for a time when the biggest amp burner was the vacuum cleaner.  It's completely inadequate for the 21st century.  Two rooms are redone already, but to rewire the entire rest of the house will run well into five figures.  All we can do is chip away at the problem and hope we don't have a fire in the meantime.

The house retains heat like no other building I've ever been in.  The first two summers here were horrible.  There were days when the dime store thermometer glued to the wall indicated indoor temperatures in excess of a hundred degrees.  Last year, we replaced some of the windows in the front of the house, focusing on the living room (called a "Parlor" here) and the kitchen.  We hung a powerful window AC in the living room, and with some creative work with doors and fans, have managed to create a very welcome oasis of cool in one part of the house at least.  The next step is the windows in the patio area (actually a rectangular family room) and another powerful cooling unit.  With that air blowing forward towards the...um...parlor and that cool air blowing back towards the patio, we will be able to greatly extend the useable part of the house.  

There is a host of other issues, but I won't bore you with the list.  Just know that I wish I had a rich uncle.

The bottom line is that with a Mortgage and a Mustang on our financial plate, we have sunk our roots deeply into this volcanic soil.  We will be here for awhile, hence our activities in Denver.  

Cheryl was originally going to fly in from Orlando where she was attending a conference for surgical nurses.  With the explosion of the Delta variant of the COVID-19 virus, the conference was canceled pretty much at the last minute.  We had to scramble to get her flights arranged.  Since mine had already scheduled, we had to fly separately.  Bummer, dude.  

Anyway, she got in Tuesday afternoon, but I didn't arrive until Wednesday morning after a two-stage red-eye.  Hate those things.  I went straight from the airport to the storage unit, where Cheryl had already pulled most of the boxes out by herself.  Her back is still hurting.  The first, rather joyful step was getting rid of all my fat clothes.  Since a lot of them were of the cold-weather variety, they were easy to set aside for Goodwill.  Although, I had to admit I loved those sweaters, and the cool fall weather that made them useful.  

The rest of the task involved going through the remaining containers and getting rid of stuff we simply had no more use of.  Some of this involved some emotional pain, but Jamie was on the job, treating us with just the right amount of tough love.  She's really good at that, by the way.  Where she got particularly tough on me was when I got to my Kansas City Chiefs coats, really terrific looking items.  I had two boxes full of motorcycle gear -- chaps, jackets, boots, gloves, winter overpants -- also went away.  Three years ago, that would have been tough.  But I know my riding days are over, leaving clear and poignant memories.  

But our house is small with microscopic closets, so all that really had to go.  So like our beloved Ethan Allen furniture from three years ago, I firmly turned my emotional back and walked away.  I don't know how easily the Chiefs gear will sell there in the heart of Bronco's country, but that's Goodwill's problem now.

It took less time than we thought, and when we were done, we had culled the contents of the storage unit by over a third.  Good work for a sleep-deprived old man and his aching-backed wife.

The movers arrived Friday morning, and made quick work at their first stop, Jamie's house where they picked up our dishware, Cheryl's beloved Polish Pottery, including repacking what Jamie had been using.  They then proceeded to the storage unit where they did a great job repacking some of our old, torn boxes and wrapping each one of the plastic bins in heavy paper.  They were pretty much done by 11 am, and with a palpable sense of relief, I watched them drive away.  In about four weeks, they'll be in Hawai'i.  

With that, the last material connection to the mainland will have been severed.  Yet again, another paradigm shift in our lives has occurred, and with that the accompanying feelings that come with closing one door and opening another leaving familiar memories behind and a host of unknowns ahead.

Change is the only stable thing in life, at least for us.  Our history is marked by times of searching out new places, new paths, always hearing the seductive siren song of the beckoning horizon.

It is a call we just can't ignore.