Last time I wrote, 9/24/24, I promised at the end of the reblog of my friend Marianna’s account of our trip to Chicago, that I would write soon about my move and my trip for my high school reunion. Soon is now!

This morning, Saturday, I woke up with sobs in my throat. As is my habit, I’d turned off my alarm earlier and asked Alexa to play “gospel hymns.” Then I drifted off and eventually woke up to the words and tune of a song I’d never heard before. As I lie in bed and listened, tears came. Here are the words to the first verse:

Life is easy, when you’re up on the mountain / And you’ve got peace of mind, like you’ve never known / But things change when you’re down in the valley / Don’t lose faith, for you’re never alone. (Check The God on the Mountain on YouTube)

The word valley reminded me of Psalm 23, a favorite of Marv’s the months he was terminally ill. Psalm 23:4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and staff they comfort me. And as I fleetingly pictured and felt him beside me while dying, I remembered today was the third anniversary of my sister Rose’s death. I thought of my trip to her in Washington just a month before, as soon as it felt safe to travel after Covid. And then my repeat trip a month later to attend her funeral. Then, of course, my mind did a quick scan of the deaths of my other siblings and in-laws.

Forty-five minutes later, my niece texted again. “Okay, this is God’s hand.” She had just turned on her music, and the first song to come up was The God on the Mountain. She reminded me that “He’s there for us today for all our losses.”

So it was both a somber and a joyful day. I’d prioritized a task, leftover from moving, to unpack about ten boxes of books and get them arranged on bookshelves in a recognizable order. I ran into a problem, though, as half of them had come from a bookshelf Marv had tailor-made for their heights, a built-in bookshelf that my grandson had carefully removed from that wall and now wouldn’t fit here. So I was trying to get those same books to fit into another one of Marv’s homemade bookshelves. I had little success. Putting tall books on short shelves doesn’t work. Several books now lay on their sides.

I’m not yet finished with this project, but at least the books are out of the boxes, and the boxes are out of sight.

Overall, my move from a twin home to a unit in a four-story cooperative building for folks over 62 went very well. I had plenty of help, especially my daughter, Kathleen, and my grandson Kyle and his wife Kaileen. And friends kicked in, helping to pack boxes for the movers and rolling their suitcases, filled with goodies from my house, to their trunks, up to my new unit.

I moved on Monday, September 16, less than two months after I’d made the decision to do so on July 25, the sixth anniversary of Marv’s death.

The worst part of moving was moving alone. This was my first move to make alone, without Marv. We’d made eight moves together during our almost 56 years. There was no one to help me in the moment or to organize what had to be done to get ready for the next day’s helpers.

Then five days after the move, I gave a pre-arranged book talk at my new residence, followed by another talk elsewhere the next day. Had I known I was going to move, I most assuredly would not have scheduled myself so tightly!

But who knows? Because nine days after moving in, I took off on a ten-day driving trip to Grand Rapids, Michigan, mostly to attend my 65th high school reunion. But I also got to see several family members and friends. Each encounter was richly rewarding! In other words, each conversation greatly touched my heart. Part of my identity lies back in that town and with those people. As we older folks know, these encounters automatically become more and more meaningful as we age

The entire trip was delightful. I drove the 1600 miles without mishap. I thankfully arrived back home just 45 minutes before my new home held a welcoming tea for three of us here who are new.

So, in brief, that’s my move and my trip! I know I used a lot of cliches! But everything was a meaningful, delightful experience. Now, I must remind myself that I’m almost 83 and should start to think about curbing my wanderlust a bit. Note I said “think about.” I’m not promising to kick back yet! Thanks to each of you who made time to see me. I loved every minute! You’re welcome here at any time. I have an extra bedroom…