Texas. Utah. Home.

My wife, Muri and I moved here to Utah late in 2019. We had found a beautiful house we could buy outright in the community of Daybreak but the real incentive was the presence of our Grandkids a few miles away. We had lived in Orange County California for over fifty years in a beautiful house in the hills that I thought we’d never leave. Especially for Utah. The first year was a nightmare … COVID descended upon us and my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. I don’t know if we’d have made it without family close by. By the end of 2020, cancer treatment was successful, and vaccines had brought the pandemic under control. We set to enjoying having our grandkids nearby and getting to know the people in our over-55 community. And we began to enjoy the natural beauty around us. Still, every once in a while, we’d look at each other and say, Really? Utah?

Maps

Are you old enough to remember the days when to get around a city you’d never visited before you stopped at a gas station and bought a street map?   A street map mysteriously folded so that once you unfolded it, it could never be properly folded again?   Or, if you were staying longer you’d buy a Thomas guide, 300 pages of detailed maps with print so small you needed a microscope to distinguish between Lake Avenue and Lark Avenue?  Do you remember trying to drive with with the map unfurled on your lap or getting frustrated with your navigator because she kept telling you to turn left at Redwood Avenue a block after you passed it.   Since we arrived in Utah shortly before Christmas, we have depended on maps to find our way to just about everyplace (and our way home again).  Fortunately, we have a remarkable bit of technology at our disposal … GPS navigation.   It is a distinct possibility that I’ve talked more to our GPS (which, by the way, I’ve nicknamed Myrtle) than I’ve talked to my wife since we’ve been here.   Yes, it is amazing, indispensable technology.   Except when it’s not.

Happy. Merry. Utah.

I know many people worry about how we greet one another during this holiday season. Christians insist on Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays. Some Jews are offended if someone wishes them Merry Christmas instead of Happy Chanukah. I don’t know anyone who celebrates Kwanzaa or Festivus (for the rest of us) but given human nature, it wouldn’t surprise me if some of them were offended by the incorrect holiday greeting. Personally, I am not offended by any greeting I receive at this time of year. I will take all the good wishes offered me, no questions asked.

(Moving to) Utah

I didn’t wake up one morning and say, Hey, let’s move to Utah. In fact, when our daughter and her family moved from Arizona to Utah … leaving us to sell a second home we’d bought there to spend more time with the grandkids … I said, We’re not following them again. And for 5 years we didn’t. But two weeks ago, we loaded up our two cars and left our California house (which, by the way was still in escrow) and set out for St. George, Utah, our overnight stop. Passing through Las Vegas, someone rear ended me then fled the scene, but my car was able to continue. And now we are staying in our daughter’s house in Herriman until our new house there is ready. So properly speaking, we haven’t (Moved to) Utah (particularly since our belongings are stored in a warehouse in California awaiting our move-in date). Hence the title of this post.

(Coming to) California

Forty-eight years ago, my wife and I loaded our suitcases into our boxy-but-comfortable gray Volvo and set out for California. We told our parents we just wanted to try it for a few years and I think we tried believe it ourselves. Even though we’d visited friends there a few years earlier and loved the place. Even though our best friends had moved to San Diego and we’d get to see them again. Truth: we were just kidding ourselves to make the goodbyes easier.

Movin’ On

It is May 22nd, two days after my 75th birthday.  It was a lovely birthday.  My daughter, Amy, turned up by surprise from Utah on Sunday night just before we were leaving to see one of my favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan at the Long Beach Performing Arts Center (tickets also a gift from Amy and her husband, Lars).   We went to the movies and had a very nice dinner on my birthday at the Cedar Creek Inn and on Tuesday, Amy took me to Disneyland (I can be a big kid still).  Now, she’s back in Utah and I’m still 75 (well, technically 75.005479).   One day of Yikes-I’m-75-Blues and its time for Movin’ On.  In our case, literally.

(Old) Year, (New) Year

Last night, over the dinner that never came (more on that later*), I asked my wife Muri if she thought 2018 was a good year.  She surprised me when … without hesitation … said, No.  It is a characteristic of my wife that I love, except when it bugs me: she doesn’t mince words.  Me?  I can be a word-mincer when it comes to quality of life.  Twenty-five years sitting in 12-Step meetings have instilled in me a tendency to look for the positive and to practice gratitude, even in difficult times.  It’s not that I don’t see the bad things that happened in 2018, believe me.   We lost one of our dearest friends.  Our son made no progress toward self-sufficiency.   My business went into hibernation.  I have had more than my share of aches and pains, culminating with sciatic pain that has me limping around for the first two hours of the day.  But we have a small cadre of friends who accompany us on this journey, some from afar.   And we may ache and groan but we have an active life, not by car-commercial standards but theater and movies and concerts that make perfect dates.  We have the cutest grandkids in the world (yes, I’m biased).  A few business opportunities may still blossom and if they don’t, we’ll be OK.  And we have each other.  If I were to give 2018 a letter-grade, I would give it a B.