Embarking on a new journey sometimes requires looking back. As I set out on a new Substack path, I’m starting with a slightly edited blog post from August 2022. I’ve got plenty of ideas for new posts, so I do hope you’ll come back. Please feel free to share and thanks for reading!
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Changes
The change has arrived.
As I sit in a new house, a new home, I marvel at the contradictions between all the work it took to get here, and the utter abruptness of how those frantic preparations ended; like the last three months (retirement, packing, house-hunting trips, driving, arrival, unpacking) never even happened.
We left Alexandria, Virginia on August 1, 2022, our Subaru stuffed with camping equipment, two dogs, a carrier on the roof and U-Haul trailer in tow, speeding through West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and finally into Toledo, Ohio where Chrissie Hynde’s voice reverberated through my head: “I went back to Ohio, but my pretty countryside, had been paved down the middle…”
The next night we camped in Wisconsin where we had a backpack stolen. My respect for the Midwest rapidly fading, we took off for South Dakota’s Badlands where we ran into its blast furnace heat but were equally stunned by the region’s geology, its wildlife, and of course, the unique Sturgis motorcycle culture. Struggling to maintain a positive attitude, I was soon questioning the decision to uproot my life from its foundations of community and friends, familiarity, and comfort.
After a second night camping near Buffalo, Wyoming (rain replaced the heat), we made our way to Bozeman, Montana, for a much-needed respite from the road and a short visit with my high school friend, Ray, and his lovely wife, Jodi. I’ve known Ray since our time as classmates in Mexico City in the mid-1970s, so our friendship goes back nearly 50 years. We greeted each other with big hugs, fell easily into easy-going bantering as old friends will, and, as best we could, tried to make up for lost time.
Some things don’t change.
Much to my relief (and I suspect everyone else’s, too), the reminiscing and nostalgia did not last long-just a couple stories of our high school exploits (how did we ever survive?!). But we quickly moved on. Instead, we talked about what’s happening to us now, our families, and our changes over the years. We hiked with our dogs throughout Bozeman and spent a lovely Sunday at the park enjoying live music and sampling local food and crafts at the SLAM (Supporting Local Artists and Musicians) Festival. A lazy, sunny afternoon not driving was just what I needed to improve my outlook and spur expectations of an exciting new life of possibility.
Dan Dubuque (Mark Caicedo)
We spent the next two days high-tailing it across western Montana and after spending a night at the pet-friendly Super 8 motel in Spokane, we set off across the endless, and beautiful, rolling wheat fields of eastern Washington. Soon enough the Cascade Mountains towered before us and we climbed into Stevens Pass before dropping into Everett and I-5 for the final sprint to Ferndale.
Joscelyn, Quintana, Roscoe, and I pulled up in front of our new house-not quite a home yet-late in the afternoon ten days after our departure. My mind flashed back over the weeks, months, and quite honestly, years of preparation: retirement, packing, house-hunting trips, driving, arrival, unpacking. And it seemed that it was all over. All those changes leading to this moment, to this ultimate destination, to this new life.
But that’s the thing about change-it never stops arriving.
More later.