Blogging through the transition

In this blog I will record my experiences traveling from the west coast to the east coast of the U.S. I have taken this trip before so it is not unfamiliar. This time though it is life changing. Twenty one years ago my husband and I came to CA with my two daughters, Jennifer and Rebecca, and our daughter, Michelle still in-utero, in a faded burgundy van packed with our most precious belongings. That is another story which I may tell in pieces, since this blog covers the end of that story I guess.

 So, here are my rules for this blog. Once we are on the road, in each entry I will try to describe what I see, hear, feel, taste and smell. Mostly what I see though. I will say where we are and where we are going. I will try to add photos to the story that enhance the experience for you, the reader. I will likely descend into the philosophical realm now and then, but won’t stay there long, I hope.

Before we leave I may record some of my thoughts on the process of sorting through twenty-plus years of stuff, deciding what to keep and what to sell or give away, and how good it feels to let things go…well, at least most of it. That is where I am right now as I begin this blog: confronted with piles of paper, boxes of books, clothes, art supplies, household items, a garage full of tools and Christmas decorations and my children’s kindergarten drawings, and did I mention books? Just how many books can two people read anyway? “Well, you never know,” my grandmother would say, “You might need them one day.” So I will take her advice on the things that are most precious to me and hang on to them, at least for a while.

 Why would anyone want to read something like this? Well, I don’t know. I’m mostly doing it for myself and my family and friends so I can keep up with them and they can keep up with me. It feels a bit narcissistic to assume that anyone would want to follow me on my little life altering adventure, but for some reason, it feels necessary. I am practicing writing for something bigger, I think. Maybe the bones of my memoir, maybe the behemoth of yet another book to add to my shelves. I don’t know, really. It just feels right and I have learned to listen to that little voice whispering in my ear. It’s usually right. “Keep a record,” it says. “You may need it one day…” Wait a minute, is that my grandmother’s voice?


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