Two Voices

Now there are two. I can't figure out how to make the name change from one to the other, so you'll have to play a guessing game about whose point of view you are hearing. Likely the subject matter will be a pretty good clue. We are two pieces of a puzzle and hopefully the combination will give a fuller version of whatever the future holds.

It's seven weeks from today that we officially land, and I am getting giddy with excitement. We've another week or two of relative inertia, then things will get rolling and life will really get interesting, followed by the peace and quiet of the Highlands. Yesssss.

A Mystical Experience

Prior to Going Wandering, we moved back to our old home town of San Clemente, California. The town where I grew up and at one time the home of the Western White House, yeah Richard Nixon's lair while president. San Clemente is like so many SoCal beach towns, more surfboard shops than grocery stores. It was actually a wonderful place to grow up, surfing before school, the full Beach Boys life style of the late 60's. My Dad would drop me at the beach on his way to work and pick me up on the way home, carefree days of surfing, swimming and lying on the beach. Those were the days!! But like any idyllic time and place you can't go back. The town of 10,000 is now 65,000. The streets are crowded, the beaches are packed in the summer and the small town of many good memories is now just another over developed blot on the landscape of the OC. Yuck. It goes to prove that you can't go back. Oh well. Moving on.

I was saddened two years ago at the passing of one of my high school classmates. Not a close friend, but a man my age. John had a heart attack while riding his bike. John ran a local bike shop and had done some repairs on a bike of mine. I had just been into his old shop, still run by his wife, to have my bike tuned up. There is a makeshift memorial to John along the bike trail where cyclists have left water bottles, jerseys, bike frames, etc. I was out on a ride and about 10 miles from home when my bike developed this annoying knocking sound in the crank. Every pedal came with a clunk that was driving me batty, but I knew I could make it home and then I could take my bike back in and get in fixed again. As I was pedalling home I decided to stop at John's memorial and leave my water bottle. I stopped for a minute, took a drink and tied my water bottle to the fence. I got back on and began to peddle and the annoying clank was gone. I thought a temporary fix that will come back when I have to crank up some of the hills on the way home. The hills come and go and no sign of the noise. Coincidence, I thought. There really was something wrong with my bike, the noise will return. Well, the next day a long ride and no sign of the clank. An unexplained miracle. I stopped by the shop and told John's wife of my miracle. She smiled knowingly and said her son would be happy to hear the story. Thanks John, still working at the bike shop and never to busy to do a favor for an old classmate.

He Said

Living the dream on a shoestring. Retirement was supposed to be owning our home as well as a humble vacation home. We always dreamed of a small flat in Scotland where I could indulge my links golf addiction and we could spend our summers in splendid isolation in the Highlands where there are more sheep than people. But then President Shrub decided to spend billions a day on destruction, which in my mind turned the economy into the dumper and made our life savings disappear into the black hole of Enron and Goldman Sachs. I will always believe that had our country chosen to invest in building our own country rather than destroying another, things would have been vastly different. So I blame President Shrub for our fall, but also credit him with giving us the strength to take a leap of faith. So, armed with a teacher's retirement pension and a flexible wife we chose to pursue our dream, though not as grandly as once hoped. We are off in April to the Scottish Highlands, flat rented, golf club joined and plans being made.

The Royal Burg of Dornoch is a small village of about 3,000 folks and a world class golf course. The other claim to fame was that Madonna had her child baptised in the Cathedral. From the first visit Dornoch has always tugged at me. The village is one of picture postcards, solid stone houses and neatly tended gardens. The sea near by and surrounded by the beautiful hills of heather and whins has made Dornoch one of my favorite spots in the world. You can almost feel your blood pressure drop as you ease into the rhythm of a different time and place.

Leaving

So, I have been thinking about leaving. I have been putting off thinking too deeply on that for fear that I will spend the next couple months with the sadness of leaving overshadowing the joy of the new adventure. This is something we have dreamed of doing for more than ten years, so to have it nearly upon us is beyond amazing. But, at the same time, my breath catches every time I think of leaving my children, my mom, my sisters, and my brother for such a long period of time. To envision the actual saying of goodbye already makes me teary if I think on it for too long. Can I not quietly slip out of the country with no one noticing? I will just have to make sure I have my hankies in my pocket when I board the plane. And hope that by the time we are over Colorado my broken heart will be singing Caledonia in full roar.

Dreaming of a quiet moment in the Cathedral, followed by a G&T at the Eagle . . . .

Three Months to go

We fly out three months from today. Should I not be making piles? Lists? Decisions?

Nahhh. Maybe next month.

Packing 101

When you decide to put your life in storage, obviously one needs to make a pile, think about it, thin out the pile, think about it, thin out the pile, and think about it some more before putting it in the van to move it to the storage unit. Apparently we missed several of these steps. We don't really plan to own a home again, but if we do, don't you think we could buy a hose? A chain saw? Seriously, we stored a chain saw. I found a box with rusting gardening tools in it, that I do believe were rusted beyond usefulness when I packed them. We stored a coffee maker that leaks like a sieve. Tie downs and a tarp. And we don't own a truck!

Once unloading at said storage unit, boxes need to be stored with the labels facing outward. This is a key point, so pay attention. Boxes need to be stored with the labels facing outward.

Clothing. If it has a stain on the front where you dripped Taco Bell or some other greasy substance, throw it away. If it was a bit tight across the chest the last time you wore it, really, do you think it's going to fit you in three years or whenever this sojourn comes to an end? I did find my precious silk layers as April is Scotland is going to be cold, so there was some gold in that thar storage unit.

Kitchen items. Admit it, we all own a rusty cheese grater, flour sifter, or some other kitchen tidbit that probably should be replaced. But no, there they were, in a box, labeled, so it was done intentionally, sifter, cheese grater, turkey baster (with rotted out rubber bulb), cloth napkins (the black ones, anyone who has eaten at my house remembers those) stained with years of spills. I pat myself on the back that I would rather wash cloth napkins than waste paper, but for cripes sake, get new ones from time to time! These are an embarassment (and moreso because I left them in the box in the storage unit, just in case).

Just in case. Words that are going to haunt me when we finally unload all this stuff.

Dreaming of meat pies and Guinness . . . .

The Grand Experiment

Why I feel the need to do this I've no idea, but I'd like some kind of record of how (if) we pull this off. For who? Again, I've no idea.

What else can one do when you've lost everything in the real estate market, but still have a pension (him) and a job (me)? Fly the coop, that's what. Go somewhere you love and can be happy while you get over it. Scotland is a good place to start. We have pared down our life to a 10x10 storage unit, our clothes, and our hobbies, and to be honest it's quite liberating. Roof leaks? Call the landlord. Washing machine breaks? Call the landlord. Talk to me at tax time in a couple months and see if I am still so cavalier about the whole thing.

You will always be able to tell where we are by the picture at the bottom of the page. For now, we are still in California. Getting it all squared away, leaving the family, getting bills and banking down to simplest forms, dealing with exchange rate bandits (yes, Chase Bank, that means you), how to get six months' worth of prescriptions, and things too numerous to count that I have not thought of, all to be dealt with. I love a challenge, but I know we will get there and have at least one moment of 'how did we not think of this.'

Dreaming of scones and tea . . .