Here today, gone to Paso

This last week has been all about houses.  Getting this one inspected, from roof to floors, by various home inspectors.  And making and offer and having it accepted on a new house, west of here.  It's not a done deal; talk to anyone in real estate and they'll tell you sad tales of houses dropping out of escrow and back into the hands of their original owners, but the odds are in our favor that all will proceed smoothly and in a couple more months, we'll be starting to move things into our new home, which sits on a lovely hill overlooking the vineyards and the city off to the west.  


Our move has been a driving force in my life for the past two years.  I felt we needed to get out of this valley to provide our kids with better opportunities west of here (unemployment rate here:  17 percent.  Unemployment in San Luis Obispo County:  8 percent.  Need I say more?).  We wanted them to have access to clean air and a more outdoors-oriented lifestyle for the sake of their -- and our -- health.  My husband and I want to retire there and want to begin laying down our roots there now.  The reasons were many.  


But nonetheless, when we got the call that the offer we made on a house there had been accepted, my reaction was to feel as if the wind had been knocked out of me.  


I am not sure why that is.  I had always anticipated that moment being a little like winning the big prize on a game show, or at least getting a formal acknowledgement that Heaven approved our life transfer to a nicer place just this side of paradise.  Instead I hung my head in shock and, believe it or not, a feeling of fear.  Fear of the unknown.  And the realization that the next phase of life was truly beginning, which meant the current one was truly ending. 


And that was it.  I was feeling, I realized, a sadness that welled up from knowing this phase of life is almost over, and with it, my job as a full-time mom to a little boy who has grown into a fine young man.


I thought about my odd reaction for a long time afterwards.  And now that the dawn has broken on a new day, I feel a lot more positive about the whole thing.  I am happy it all worked out, and grateful to the Man Upstairs for having it happen the way it did. The timing  of it all could not be more blessed.  We will see our boys graduate, see all three kids to the end of the school year, and yet still escape before the endless heat and air pollution of  the valley's 7-month summer has really been with us long.


But I've also realized I won't necessarily go dancing out of this valley in a blaze of victory like I always thought I would when I finally got my ticket punched to leave.  Instead, I will leave in a somber, reflective and gently hopeful mood, an appropriate tone for the moment when you close one  of Life's books and begin another.