This week, by Wednesday or so, we will know when they are flying us to North Carolina. This trip is so that we can drive around and get a feel for the area, look at houses, towns, neighborhoods, all that.
We might be flying commercial, but if there are enough people going, we will be able take the corporate jet. Yes, the corporate jet. This jet is new and can fly nonstop, as opposed to the other five that have to make a pit stop. ***eye roll*** They have jets...plural. Then they should be able to compensate me for what I am losing. I have no idea how I will hold my tongue four 5 hours. I am sick to my stomach every day, I cannot even look at photos from Rosemary Hill right now, I have not been up to the garden since hearing this news. I feel like I am betraying all of my plants and animals outside.... someone else will come in here and care for them? Really? Nothing is set in stone. Maybe there will be some miracle that happens, I have no idea. I'm assuming they will end up buying our house, but I don't know if they do that anymore. So, then, what... I stay here in my packed-up house waiting for someone to buy it? For how long? No one at my husband's company cares about me, or my plants, or my animals. They don't care about my new kitchen, about the solar system we installed, my plans.... So I will take care of my kids first, and figure out the rest later. I will be fine, but they owe me. They all owe me for giving up my world and trading it for an unknown one. Except that they don't care.
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I have to start over again.
I've started over 17 times since becoming an adult, but the last time was supposed to be for the long haul. More about that over time, or not, but the bottom line is, I will do what I have to do to take care of my girls, and if that means moving 3,000 miles away from everything and anyone I know, again, after moving this family 11 times in the last 27 years, then so be it. I will never get back what I'm losing by leaving Rosemary Hill, my beautiful homestead in the Umpqua Valley of SW Oregon, a place I have called home for four years, and have spent over $100,000 in time, energy and especially money, to build the retirement home of my dreams. So this time, I am going into this move with my eyes wide open. I will build my online business, so that when I end up moving again (and I'm sure we will), I will be able to take everything with me in boxes. I will never have to re-home outside cats, hens, or entire colonies of bees. I will not renovate the next kitchen, I will not put a $44,000 solar system on another roof with the intent to enjoy no more power bills ever. No more. I will write, I will do art, I will swim in the pool I WILL have, I will buy a treadmill so we can walk even when the humidity soars over 90%. I will get my girls settled and we will explore Raleigh, North Carolina, together, and I'll get them set up in their adult lives, in college or a course that will help them achieve their goals so they will always be in charge of their destiny. Because I have nothing. I have no retirement, no money in the bank, because we've moved so many times and have always had to dig into my husband's 401K in order to move... again. And now here we are, once again house poor — because moving wasn't part of the deal. We put all of our money into this house. I will never have my lavender farm now, I will lose hundreds upon hundreds of plants I planted with my own two hands. I will never have my cutting garden, my little store, my berry garden, or my native show gardens. I will say goodbye to all of my Master Gardener friends, and all of my bee club friends. And my deer, James, who I have watched from the time he was a yearling four years ago. He won't know where I've gone. I will now write the books I've had planned for years, and I will facetime friends from the side of my pool and when I'm traveling. I will go to writing conferences again. I will get the house set up like I want, but I will always remember that nothing is permanent. Enjoy what you have, but know it can be taken away at any moment. But. No one is sick, we are all healthy, and that's more than a lot of people have. We are moving to North Carolina, which, apparently, is like winning a Golden Ticket, according to everyone I've spoken with who have lived there, knows someone who's lived there or lives there now, or whose kids go to college there. They have so many coffee shops and art studios and festivals and plenty of places to explore on the central East Coast, and that will keep us very busy so maybe I won't be so sad about what I'm losing.... maybe. I guess we'll see. |
AuthorHello, I'm Cynthia. Archives
May 2024
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