FINIS

This all started with Loose Change, Dan’s desire to move south and my need to process what that meant. I’m now at the end of this journey. Not quite where I had planned, “a sunset viewing from Mallory Square in Key West”, but close enough. At the time I said, “My inertia comes from other places that I need to explore. Extended family, a multitude of friends, community and neighborhood, a great job, a house I love and a feeling of stability I'm afraid to uproot.”

I know now that wasn’t true. I lacked (we both lacked) the catalyst required to make a big change. For my 17 loyal readers you know that the catalyst triggered over a year ago when my 15-year position ended with my employer in Milwaukee. We were faced with a choice – find suitable replacement income in the area, or move. Dan and I chose to move, because if not then, when?

Was it easy? No. We went insane for a while, dramatically downsizing (but in hindsight, not quite enough). Internet searches found us a rental that would take a big dog and landed us in a 624-square-foot house. And can I just say that people who want to live in a tiny house are bat-shit crazy.

It’s been a wild, scary, lonely, and exhilarating year. We found a new home in a community that we love. I’ve found a terrific job doing work that energizes me. We’ve both met new people and are starting to add to our collection of friends (there’s always room for more). And we are settling in to our new home, our new environment and the consequences of our decision to move.

Did we lose things along the way? Yes, proximity to family and friends, familiar routines, faces and places, and the comfort of knowing every street and landmark. Have we gained things? Again, yes. Dan is finally warm year-round, we know we can meet any challenge and we’ve found out that our children are our biggest role models and cheerleaders. (Shout-out to Carl and Hunter for great advice along the way!)

So here we are, just a 428-mile drive from Mallory Square, in a very lovely community. We have great neighbors, we found a welcoming coven of liberal thinkers and we enjoy the lifestyle of year-round warm. I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect with cousins who’ve included us in family gatherings even though we were quite distant before we landed here in Florida, and for that we are both grateful.

Change is hard. Big change is really hard. But it can be done, even if all you start with is loose change.

Songs that Resonate:

Photograph - Nickelback (for Carl and Hunter)

100 Years - Five for Fighting

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

Old Dogs, New Tricks OR It's All in the Cards

There is an idiom that “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Ripley and I disagree. Ripley is considered an elderly canine (the oldest Doberman we’ve ever had) and I’m now just one year away from starting another significant decade. At least one of us is an “old dog.”

Ripley and I have learned a lot of new tricks here in Florida. For instance, Ripley has learned about the buoyancy of salt-water and loves a great salt-water swim. He reverts back to full-on puppy mode when in the water, splashing and playing with the most energetic of dogs. On one visit to the beach, something large came up so close to him that the wave nearly washed over his head. Ripley can now say, unlike Luca Brasi, that he swam with the fishes and lived to bark the tale. He’s learned that the sandy soil here in Florida is almost as cool and refreshing as the sandy soil at a certain northern Wisconsin cottage. He never enjoyed such relaxation at our home in Wauwatosa. Ripley met the neighborhood Big Dog, “Macho,” and promptly humped him. Florida dog.

I’ve relearned to enjoy reading a hard copy of the Sunday paper. With a bigger audience, the Tampa Bay Times, unlike the Milwaukee Shopper, is a real, bulky and satisfying page-turner. 

I’ve learned that a one-hour commute can be a relaxing opportunity to catch up on world and local events, both morning and evening. As my son Carl puts it, it’s my NPR time. I’ve even learned to overlook the sloppy transitions from local NPR to national NPR on WUSF. I’m confident that with our new sustainer contribution they’ll up their game. 

And parking, I’ve learned to not be bothered by parking on the front lawn, because, sometimes it’s the only place to park. No! It’s not a white trash thing. Florida!

I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about politics. Again, because, Florida! All of the yard signs tell me to stick to the weather. I’ve learned to let my hair air-dry. It’s really the best option. The humidity is my friend as I grow out my locks, adding body and bounce to previously stick-straight hair. And sleeping au naturel is finally a comfortable option, because, Florida!

I’ve come to enjoy not having an assigned desk at work. I pick the workspace that will best meet my needs for the day, alternating between sitting and standing. Okay, I must admit that I’m an early bird in an office of late arrivals and I usually – no, always – gravitate to the same sit/stand desk next to the window. But I leave it absolutely clean every night so that if someone beats me into the office the next day, they could choose that desk (and endure my stink-eye).

I’ve embraced “jeans every day” in the workplace, pushing aside all the work dresses I’ve acquired over the years, saving only a few for the occasional business trip. It’s a pleasure to shop “smart casual.” Of course I need new clothes! Florida bonus.

The biggest change is something we hoped would happen when we took the plunge and moved here. We wanted to reinvent ourselves. Push into uncharted territory. My job has allowed me to do that. I am working on programs that I have never worked on before. I am in a brand new position where I am making the template that others will follow. I am not an old dog in this position—I am the puppy bringing excitement and enthusiasm to help support the folks who are working with really sexy products like bandages and mouthwash. And I love it.

Still challenging is making new friends. Months ago we planned a trip to De Soto Beach, a lovely spot with a beach for dogs. Dan packed two gourmet sandwiches, two small bags of chips, two little bottles of wine for me and a six-pack of good beer. In a slight huff I asked why he needed six beers for lunch. He replied that it’s always better to be prepared.

Once at the beach Ripley was having a blast, romping through the surf and tackling smaller dogs in a frenzy of play. A couple our age walked toward us with their dog, and soon the two dogs were running together like beasts in the wild. It turns out the man was a retired Wauwatosa Fire Fighter, and he, his wife and dog were traveling the country in their restored 1965 GMC bus. Dan did the Wisconsin thing of offering them a beer. They did the Wisconsin thing of accepting. They offered us a business card with their electronic info. I keep in touch with her on Facebook. The reason for the six-pack revealed. Wisconsin!

This led to Dan ordering cards for us (new trick)! This has been a great icebreaker as we meet new people. It’s a safe and less creepy way to say “Give us a call sometime!” In the words of the sage Carl Johnson, “Mom—this isn't like college, you don’t have a semester to work out whether someone may be a friend or not. Act on it now.” After the first scary few months, things are settling down nicely.

Today, October 3, is my birthday. I’ve come to grips with the fact that there will be no color changes in the trees. No tangy & crisp McIntosh apples (my favorites are a bit mushy here). On the bright side, most of the trees are so green that Dan can see them. I won’t have to listen to him whine “What’s the big deal with fall?” Evening temperatures will be in the 70s, the humidity is going down and I probably won’t need to bring out a sweatshirt until sometime in December or January.   

On the other hand, this was a scary move for Ripley. He lost his home, his CARPETING, and everything he knew. He lived in a tiny hovel with two squabbling people for too many months. But it has changed. He likes the new house. He likes Griffin, the neighbor kid who stops by almost daily to play with him. He likes Macho. He loves being a salty-sea dog. And there is one room in the house with carpet so he can get a grip on his rawhide and have a good chew. He needs his own cards.

Old dog, new tricks? No problem.

Music that resonates:

Hello Milwaukee - Five Card Studs

Agnes Was Well Loved and Raised Chickens

Dan has learned this from the neighbors: There’s Mary next door (her dad bought the lot where her house stands today for $150), DeeDee (and her daughter’s puppy) across the street, Woody (his father built “most of the neighborhood”), Ed (leaf removal for $25 bucks), Chris (man-bun with shaved sides), Jack (beyond wrinkled) and Jeff who came by to rent a ladder. Dan’s been talking (I’ve been listening) and has been informed that Agnes lived here for about 20-years. She raised chickens in a fenced in area of the yard and her husband lived here occasionally, when he wasn’t incarcerated. This is 3^rd Avenue NE in Largo, Florida, the temporary location of Villa Johnson South.

724 3rd Ave NE  Largo, FL  33770

We landed here on Monday, March 25^th at 9:30 in the morning. The street is a quiet cul-de-sac, the trash is picked up twice weekly and we are close to a lot of shopping options. The beach is a quick 10-minute drive away. We quickly connected with cousins who live in the vicinity. We take walks around the neighborhood, I’ve gotten a library card and overall it’s been a gentle landing.

This house is a glorious 624-square feet, with eight windows, five rooms, three closets, and two points of ingress/egress. The realtor measured our former living room as 20’ X 25’. That’s 500 square feet. Add 124 more and you’ve got this house. Halfway through unloading the truck the guys had to stop bringing things into the house because we couldn’t move around.

#1 - Living Room (Dog added for scale)

#2 - Kitchen (Dan and dog added for scale)

#3 - Bathroom, after plumbing fix

Day one I made the serious mistake of thinking the toilet was functional. Yes, Carl, poop is still funny, but never so funny as when it backs up into your bathtub. And a good seven hours later we got the plumber’s diagnosis, too much toilet paper, three squares only, please! He’s been here twice, because, as it turns out Agnes hasn’t lived here for over five years, and the large tree in the back yard has invaded all available pipes. Every time we flush we cross our fingers. (Dan note: Agnes died on January 5, 2010 at 3:30 am in a hospice. Her kids came at two that afternoon and took what they wanted. The house sat empty for five years. Thanks neighbor Mary for the info and sorry you have to live with your grandson’s girlfriend who is a hoarder.)

Backyard-buried treasure

Our first Sunday was spent digging, uncovering a walkway between the house and the laundry “annex” after removing three inches of dirt and dead leaves. Florida is buried treasure country, right? Second Monday, and the plumber is here again to investigate why the washer (four towels max) causes soapy water to bubble up in the newly revealed exterior plumbing stack.

The one thing I am worried about is dental care. According to the National Institute of Dental & Craniofacial Research, the average adult between the ages of 20 and 64 has 24.92 remaining teeth. After having four removed during orthodontia and four wisdom teeth removed, I have 24. I’m already below the average. And based on the neighbors we’ve met, this street is definitely on the lower end of the bell curve.

(Dan edits: Before we moved here, Paula and I discussed at length that this was an opportunity to reinvent ourselves. We didn’t have to be the old Dan and Paula, or the old Ripley. As I’ve walked through the Home Depot, Lowes, Winn Dixie or Publix, I am encountering tons of old white people. TONS. The guys in the new Mercedes or BMW convertibles are even older. Seriously dude, if you are intimidated by a straight six 1960 Ranchero on the highway, you need to be in a golf cart.

The axiom that Florida is “Death’s Waiting Room” is true. But this neighborhood is not. It’s like our first house in Riverwest, when money was tight, good beer was rare, but parties were constant. This is a young, vibrant, but poorer part of town. We have lived in a stratified atmosphere for many years, when picking up the tab was easier than figuring out who had the iced tea and who had the appetizer. When people asked how much something cost and I had no idea. When neighbors owning a brewery or large business were passé. “Of course we’ll be in Mexico diving this year.” “Have you SEEN what the rates went up to at Pier House in Key West?” When having four cars seemed—too few (there was one glorious day I had seven).

This is a young, friendly, vibrant neighborhood where every introduction ends in “Now if you need a hand with anything…”

No, we won’t talk politics, or orthodontia, or why parking on the lawn is bad, or why your rottie/pit-bull seems to bark all the time. Ripley is acting like a puppy with all of the new kids in the neighborhood. My young snaggle-tooth neighbor Chris correctly identified the Ranchero as 1960, and guessed that the taillights were Buick, “1961?” 1960. “We bleed blue on this block” was his response.

Wisconsin Dan, unfortunately, would have broad-brushed these folks as, well, I am embarrassed to say. Florida Dan, who is on a tight budget until one of us has a job, is seeing things a lot differently. When my neighbor Jeff asked today to rent my ladder (he had a $200 hedge trimming job but didn’t have a ladder!) I said take it, and he offered his driver’s license as collateral. He offered $25, but I said make it a 12-pack and we’ll share it. He returned the ladder tonight—the beer is forthcoming. Florida Dan is cool with that. What’s the rush?

We’ve made the move. We have a lot to learn about living in Florida and about ourselves. Change isn’t easy, and big changes are the hardest of all. While we live in Agnes’ house and get to know her neighbors, the former beneficiaries of free eggs, we will be open to reinvention and the kindness of strangers.

Limboland

Dan and I have been guests in Limboland for a few months now. Not the cool Caribbean dance or the religious limbo. That limbo defined as “an intermediate, transitional, or midway state or place.” Ours is a strange place marked by periods of great joy and deep sadness, but mostly by long periods of nothingness. It’s nothingness combined with anxiety because we just are not sure what is coming next. Limboland is filled with questions and answers just over the horizon. But the distance to the horizon is a mirage that defies measurement. Maybe tomorrow…or tomorrow…or tomorrow.

It’s not that we don’t have a plan. It’s that the plans of others need to line up with ours, and therein lies the problem. We are in a state of wait. Wait for the next offer on the house. Wait for decisions from potential employers. Do nothing and keep the house pretty while we wait for the next showing. Leave the house while strangers walk hoards of people through, again and again. Wait with the dog at the local coffee shop, keeping him on a short leash at the fire pit while he eyes up treats other patrons are eating.

In Limboland you own very little. Things that had both great sentimental and perhaps financial value a few months ago are nearly worthless today. Or are sold on Craigslist for pennies. Or eagerly given to friends and family. Fridays no longer mean the start of the weekend—they mean the dumpsters will be empty, ready for the next load. Things are saved from the fire pit at the last moment. Things are stacked in the garage waiting to be hauled cross-country to be stored in someone else’s basement. Residents of Limboland travel light.

I don’t mean to complain, we are actually in a great place and we do know there will be an end to this. It’s just so foreign to both Dan and I. We are used to being very busy. Currently untethered from our routine, we’ve had a hard time adjusting. We know the “end” has us living and working in Florida, on the gulf. The sunshine and palms wait for us as we neatly (can’t have a messy house) sort through our belongings. And without a move date, or a decision from an employer, it’s an activity without an end. In Limboland you live like squatters in a clean, sterile house that looks a lot like yours, but without the soul.

Change and transition is never easy. If we could have created our own perfect path from one point to the next it would never be as messy as it is right now. We’d have answers to every question – in fact, we’d have no questions. Both Dan and I are taking a lot of advice from our great adult sons, who’ve taken the leap, moved across the country and are happy with the change. They did it successfully, and not without bumps. They share with us tips about quickly acclimating to our new location and successfully making new connections. That, in and of itself, is odd – they usually call us for advice.

But in Limboland there is a broader message. It is not advertised, and many folks—I suspect—miss it. It took us a while to see it, and as it slowly sinks in, we know family members and friends who will have a much harder time than us. For some it might be impossible. Our advice, should you enter Limboland.

• It’s the memories, not things. Memories weigh nothing—things have weight and hold you down. Get Rid of the Weight.
• You have no control over the decisions—or indecisions—of others. Take your very best shot, learn from it and move on. It’s their loss, and you will succeed.
• As long as you are a team you are strong. Alternate who is in the Pit Of Despair and who is on the top of Optimistic Mountain. You may change places several times a day, but keep talking.
• The dog will be confused. Let him sleep in the bed for a few minutes every morning. Someone threw out his box of toys, and he’s been through the whole being abandoned thing once before. Let him know that this time, he’ll be coming along on the adventure. 

We’ll get there. In the meantime we attempt to adjust to Limboland and remain optimistic that no later than tomorrow, we’ll get at least one answer to one question. And if not tomorrow, then the day after that.