Back home again...

Rob and I hit the road about 1:30 p.m. on Thursday, June 15. The movers were incredible: They had everything loaded into the huge moving truck within a little over three hours. Their fast work allowed us to get an early start. 

We drove until 10 p.m., stopping in Chattanooga, Tenn. The next day we stopped in Indianapolis and had a late lunch with my brother John and his wife (who are also packing up for a move to Ithaca, N.Y., to be near their son). We finally reached Marshall, Mich., late afternoon. 

There is something about the midwest that makes you feel at home. Or maybe it is just the fact that Indiana/Illinois are home. Florida was never home; it was a place where I lived. 

Katie was a good traveler. She didn't whine or cry. She mostly hunched over the divider between the two front seats and seemed to watch out the front window. Sometimes she would curl up in her bed and snooze. 

Traveling and temporarily staying in a hotel, at Rob's and now at Jennifer's has affected her eating habits, though. She is normally a secretive eater--preferring to daintily quaff her appetite out of view of anyone else. And she doesn't understand that food left in the bowl will be snarfed down by others.

That's what happened at Rob's house. His two dogs feasted. And now Jake likes to partake of Katie's untended meal. 

It's fun to see Jake and Katie together. Although he is a white labradoodle and she is a bichon,  he looks like her big brother, literally. He, of course, let her know (nicely) that this house was his turf. She hasn't minded that at all. Last night, though, she put her paw down: She and I had gone out for a reintroduction to White Castles. She didn't want any in the car, but when I was eating them at the house, she decided they might taste good. I gave her a bite; she gulped it down. I gave her another. Jake then decided he needed to investigate this food situation. He started toward her morsel. Katie growled; he turned away. Good for Katie! She asserted herself! Every female has to learn to do that!

Katie and I are headed to our new house this morning to paint my bedroom. Movers come on Wednesday.

Until later,

Your Reluctant Rover,

Linda

All the boxes are packed...

All my bags are packed

I'm ready to go

I'm standin' here outside your door

I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breakin'

It's early morn

The taxi's waitin'

He's blowin' his horn

Already I'm so lonesome

I could die

Yes, my bags are packed, and I'm ready to go. The movers will be here Wednesday. I'm going home.

Jim knew that moving back to the Midwest was always in my plans, if he passed away before me. I have nothing to keep me in Jacksonville. 

I had a good job. I did make a few good friends, including my cousin (who ironically lives in my neighborhood!). But I am lonesome for the company of my family, and they live 1,100 miles from here. 

So kiss me and smile for me

Tell me that you'll wait for me

Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane

Don't know when I'll be back again

Oh babe, I hate to go

Not going on a jet plane. My son and I are driving up north with my pup Katie. I do know, however, when I'll be back again...never. I have no desire to return to Jacksonville.

I came here because of work. Of all the places in the world--or even just in Florida--It is where I would voluntarily choose to live. I remember the first time we visited Jacksonville: It was to witness Jim's daughter-in-law's commission as a warrant officer in the U.S. Navy. As we left the city limits on the drive back to Palm Beach, I remarked that I wouldn't want to live in Jacksonville. Jim agreed.

Fate had other plans.

9-11 happened; the freelance work by which I was making a living dried up; I had to find another full-time position. When I began looking for a job in 2001, Jim said he would follow me anywhere. And he did. A great one was offered to me as editor of a business magazine, headquartered in Ponte Vedra Beach, just outside of Jacksonville. So I sold my house; packed it up; and moved to northeast Florida in January 2003. 

That first January exposed me to a Florida quite different from the one I had known since I moved to Palm Beach Gardens in April 1998: The temperature in Jacksonville actually dipped to 18 degrees! This was Florida? Not really. Despite the geographic boundaries, an argument could be made that northeast Florida is part of south Georgia, both in climate as well as in mentality. Ultra conservative in politics and religion, racist, and not really a great place to live. 

Except for our house.

We liked our house, situated on a quiet pond that welcomes turtles, ducks, and geese, in a nice subdivision. The location was perfect. The area developed: We watched road crews widen the main drag to four lanes, builders erect a set of business buildings, construction crews tear down two draw bridges and replace them with high bridges over the San Pablo River, and a Super Walmart and Super Target shopping centers appear where trees had grown. As the area grew, so did the value of the house. For that I am very  grateful. Even after buying another home in Schaumburg, Ill., I have a nest egg from its equity.

Despite how much we liked the house, we often talked about moving away from here. At one time we entertained relocating to The Villages in central Florida; we ultimately were glad we did not act on that urge. We also thought about moving to DeLand, a small city outside of Orlando. But we put that thought to the wayside, too, as we considered water shortages and sink holes in that part of the state. 

As the summers kept getting hotter and more humid, Jim would often come in from the outside and complain that we had to move to the mountains in North Carolina or Georgia. Cooler temperatures in the altitudes, he said. I resisted, because I knew we had to be close to good doctors and hospitals. The rural areas he longed for did not have them. One of Jacksonville's few assets is an abundance of good medical care.

So here we stayed. But no more.

Now the time has come to leave you

One more time

Let me kiss you

Then close your eyes

And I'll be on my way

Dream about the days to come

When I won't have to leave alone

About the times, I won't have to say

I've been dreaming about the days to come. I just purchased a three bedroom/two bath manor home (two-story condo) in northern Illinois just a few miles and minutes from my daughter. Living in a complex will be an adjustment, for both my dog and me, but I am looking forward to it. Katie (who is really stressed out by having her surroundings being boxed up) will have new smells to explore, and I've already been thinking about ways to meet new friends...perhaps getting back into golfing again. Attending the Unitarian Church (where I met Jim!). Maybe even pickleball. It will be nice to have my family over for dinner occasionally. And maybe not have to spend the holidays alone. 

Come Wednesday afternoon, I'll close my eyes and be on my way. I don't know if I will dream about this place, this house, but I know I will occasionally think about it. 

In spite of Jacksonville's (and Florida's) shortcomings, I had good times here. I had a good job; I made a few good friends. I enjoyed my swim-spa (I had always wanted a pool, ever since I was a little girl). Jim and I had bought and sold five RVs and traveled the country. I saw more of Florida than most people do, and I enjoyed it. I even caught a few fish. 

My most important memory, of course, is that of my wedding. On July 31, 2004, Jim and I were married under the shade of a willow tree in our backyard, with the pond in the background, and immediate family as witnesses to our love. So whenever I look at our wedding pictures, I will remember the life Jim and I had together here. 

We loved; we lived. He died. And now I am going home.

But, I'm leavin' on a jet plane

Don't know when I'll be back again

Oh babe, I (don't) hate to go

My thanks and apologies to John Denver. 

Until next time, if ever,

Linda

Your Reluctant Rover