We – Barb and I – have just finished “the move from Hell.”
With a quick curtsey to the folks still living back there under the trees in the old forest in far Southwest Oregon, I don’t mean you’re still in Hell. It’s just, well, politically warmer there.
No, I mean by “Hell” one of life’s little experiences that really tests the limits of one’s patience, strength, durability and causes you to think you really are in Hell. Of course, all of those things are magnified when you both reach your 70′s and still try to do the things you did in your 40′s. You may look younger than your years. You may feel younger. You still may be living a lifestyle that belies those 70 years. But inside, when push comes to shove – or rather when push comes to lift and carry again and again and again – there’s no fooling about the rings on your trunk. Those higher numbers kick in with the accompanying pain.
From the off-the-beaten-path ‘50′s approach to life and seclusion of the forest, we’ve resettled beside the sea. The Pacific Ocean as it were. We’ve traded about 40 inches of rainfall per year for something like 70. Also more fog – more wind – more gray skies. And a chill in the bones that angers the old arthritis.
But, when the sun shines – and it does often here – and the ocean appears as blue as the skies – it’s a marvelous place to be. We’ve lived on the coast before – Curry County actually. Rainfall in Curry routinely tops 90 inches. But temperatures are so balmy year-round that growers plant lily bulbs and harvest the grown flowers all twelve months. Periods of heavy rain – very heavy rain- are punctuated by several days of beautiful skies. And it’s not unusual to hit 70 degrees in Brookings in December while the rest of Oregon shivers.
Now we’re enjoying the welcome and comfort of Lincoln County which – like much of the rest of Oregon – is a two-party neighborhood. Everything we own resides in four large storage units and we’re sharing a 30-foot motorhome with Rat Terrier Winston and Calico Clementine. Unusual names, yes. It’s a Churchillian thing. We’ve changed our driver’s licenses, the vehicle registrations and have become registered voters. Independent, of course. A different life awaits.
But – recovering from “the-move-from-Hell” is taking longer than before. The sore muscles and sprains are going to be felt for more weeks than previously. Going from living in 2,000 square feet to about 180 is not as easy to adjust to as in previous relocations. Even an older Winston is grouchier than he used to get.
As a people, we Americans are a very mobile group. The Census Bureau says about 36 million of us moved in 2012 and 2013. The area with the fewest movers was the Northeast (7.8 percent); the highest was the West (13.4 percent).
Most of us didn’t move long distances. About two-thirds stayed in the same county. Those that moved out-of-county numbered about 40 percent and relocated less than 50 miles away. About 25 percent of all who moved during 2012 and 2013 were renters.
The Bureau figures there were two main reasons for relocations: housing and employment. Among renters it was more the latter than the former.
Relocations are never easy. And some are tougher than others. This was a tough one for us. Oh, we’ll heal soon. And we’ll settle in once the new house is finished. Or, as is the case at the moment, one sells and the other gets started.
But our philosophy is – “let’s get on with it.” Time enough for recovery later. That’s why the grave is called “the final resting place.”Share on Facebook