Sea Change

All good things come to an end and while I'm not claiming it was good, this blog is nearing its end. I've got a few more things to say, but for now, Dan says it best.

“We just returned from a vacation in Key West.  Dan, excited about the idea of moving, needed to ACT.  He proceeded to find all the loose pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters in various containers about the house.  He pooled all the coins and took them to the bank, making a $123.00 deposit.  ‘Paula, we need to pay down that bill, so mail it in.”  And that’s it, he’s off and running – next stop, Key West.”—Excerpt from Loose Change, Paula’s first Castle to the Keys blog, November 7, 2010.

It’s six years later, nearing the end of Paula’s “three to eight year odyssey to leave our beloved Victorian in Wisconsin and move to a conch house in the Florida Keys.” We have just returned from another great vacation in Key West, this time taking a 57-minute flight to our home in Safety Harbor which, without its two additions, would have been small enough to fit in perfectly on most streets on our favorite island. Our move didn’t take us all the way to the Keys, but we can drive there in a few hours. Close enough.

This past trip to Fantasy Fest continued a pattern that would have been a great concern for 2010 Dan. Eight years ago at our first FF, I took 1,354 pictures. This year I took 128, most of Paula in outfits or group shots with friends. The Fest has become an incredible reunion of established and new friends from all over the world. Admittedly, friends who are pretty quick to shed their clothes and jump into a closed swimming pool at 3am. To our Fantasy Fest friends who we did see, didn’t see, or still need to meet—see you in about 50 weeks.

Tutu pub krawl

When Paula started her blog it was about taking chances and moving—something that at the time seemed so far away, so crazy that we both doubted it would actually happen. But down deep, we started to make it happen--$123 at a time. Moving wasn’t on my mind when I sold my motorcycle or our convertible, when I donated all of the lumber I was saving in the hayloft for “the next big project”, or gave away the fiberglass car body I was always going to make into something. It was calm on Kavanaugh Place, but just below the surface was a salt water thermocline and a strong current racing south. We just needed to get off the boat.

People have asked us how we made the move. We both responded that you start today—get a donation to Goodwill once a week and make sure every week the dumpster is packed to the brim. Don’t buy more stuff. Upon hearing that there’s usually a pause, followed by “Well we knew you’d be OK!”

When you jump off the dive boat you put your fist on the top of your head to signal to the other divers that you are OK and ready to descend. Last March two very shaky divers put their fists on their heads, held hands and deflated their BCD’s. We’re both happy with where we've surfaced. 

Music that resonates:
Tourist Town Bar - Michael McCloud

Halcyon Days

We're in the midst of sorting and packing. We've been making decisions about items in storage spaces that have been untouched for years. The boys came home for Christmas and had to look at, and disposition items, they thought would be safely stored at their parent’s house forever. We are at the cliff, the point where the next step forward is a huge change that neither Dan nor I were truly prepared to take for a few more years. 

And yet, I think about why I started this blog, and it was to ready my mind for that big move to a warmer climate and a new beginning. Dan has been ready to turn that snow blower into a fountain for a long time now.

In December, my job was eliminated, just business and nothing personal. Except that, of course it is personal. It’s about me, and about what I contributed, and to what extent that contribution was valued. My professional currency became valueless and it was at that point they let me go. The company is heading in a new direction that didn’t include me and it is just business.

How arrogant of me to think I’m special, because of course I'm not, this has happened to so many people before me, my husband included. And now we are here, at the end of almost 20 years in the same beautiful house and a very special neighborhood, with neighbors that are not likely to be duplicated. And we sort and we pack. Even the dog is confused. It looks like something big is happening, yet no one leaves or takes him to the kennel, but everything is different.

I’m not sure where this story ends. I’m not done working yet. Neither is Dan. I’m very optimistic about two different employment opportunities, in two different cities, in southern states. They want to talk to me in person and I’ll be an enthusiastic participant in those conversations.

And yet, what a wonderful house this has been, on an incredible street, in an incredible community. Such great friends so close by. My heart aches to think about leaving.

The real-estate agent is optimistic. Great old house, well cared for, premium value, sellers market. The home stager was sweet as she complimented us on all of our personal touches and let us know exactly what to remove. No distractions allowed to confuse potential buyers. “They need to see the house and not what you’ve done to make it your own.” So we sort and pack and neuter the house, our home.

Tears roll down my cheeks. It is the end of these halcyon days.

Shell Game

Recent efforts to close our 30+ year-old checking account with a big bank and move our daily finances over to a credit union have me thinking about money in an entirely different way. The impetus for this transfer was some mailings from the bank regarding changes in the fee structure and loss of the opportunity to earn points. Frankly, the bank had just stopped selling itself as the financial provider of choice and it was time to move on.

For those of you who have had a long term relationship with a bank, you know the transition is not easy. I’ve had to start over with direct deposits, automatic withdrawals and on-line bill pay. I keep remembering yet another entity that hit the checking account without me having to think about it. In addition, the current bank has a nifty auto-reconcile feature using Quicken, something the credit union does not offer. Math is not my forte.

What’s funny to me is that throughout this whole process I haven’t touched a single piece of currency. It’s all virtual. In fact, when I think about it, I haven’t actually been paid in cash for work in years. Neither has Dan. The money I’m dealing with seems like more of an idea than a reality.

How many of us can draw a straight line between work and money? When was the last time an employer handed you cash that you in turn took to the grocery store and used to buy food? I haven’t received cash for work since I provided in-home childcare services. The money I earned seemed to mean a lot more to me then. Its immediacy to the job I performed gave it special relevance. I bypassed using the bank because I had the cash I needed to access the goods and services the family consumed on a daily basis.

So, I have to wonder, if as a society (broad generalization here) we’ve become so disconnected from currency and it’s real value that we no longer understand what it means not to have money. It’s just numbers on a computer screen, or a point of purchase touchpad. For so many of us it’s a magic card that works like a Disney fast pass, providing instant gratification.

On Saturday, our debit card was cancelled due to suspicion of fraudulent charges generating from Bolivia. Our card was declined at the grocery store, the computer ink store and the ATM. We couldn’t pay and we couldn’t get currency. Brief panic ensued until we regrouped and tapped other options. I had momentary flashbacks to living “from check-to-check” and praying that an unforeseen ear infection didn’t derail our delicate financial balance. In that instant I was reconnected with so many people in the US that are just trying to have their voices heard. They’ve watched the financial shell game go on long enough, as banks and governments shift virtual dollars, playing chicken with real people managing the real needs of real lives.

Somewhere in Bolivia someone charged $63.00 for a cab ride. Somewhere in California there are some protesters getting over pepper spray. All over Milwaukee there are moms wondering what they are going to do about rent…and breakfast. Just south of us a close relative is moving on after being laid off last week. Somewhere in Canada there is a millionaire banker who couldn’t care less that Paula Johnson moved her checking account to a little credit union. We lead a blessed, blessed life, and I need to be reminded of it more than once every 30 years.