I’m not in Kansas, anymore. I’m not even in Florida, anymore. I’m back in Los Angeles.
The shock has not quite worn off, but I’m getting used to being back. Kinda.
It’s a long story and I know I don’t want to relive it by actually writing it down.
I’ll save that for the book. Or the soon-to-be-a-major-motion-picture.
But I’m back. I moved the POD back
the dogs back,
the car back,
the horse back.
I put in a change of address. I turned off the cable, the AT&T Uverse. The lights, the water, let go of the gardener who I finally got to mow my front lawn twice a month when the heat became too oppressive. Said goodbye to neighbors & new friends. Called the credit card companies, the bank…
Everything that I had done almost a year to the day ago when I moved to Florida, I did again, in reverse.
Except this time there was a box in the Pod labeled Shattered Dream.
A big box.
A very, very big box.
Buried way in the back.
I’m not sure how things fell so completely apart once I got to Florida, but it did.
I thought I was making Florida my home, a place where I could live the rest of my life.
The last place I would ever live. The last place I would ever move to.
But finally, when I felt the ground start to shift and then eventually give way, I looked down.
And there were those damn ruby slippers.
So I’m back in LA. The horse went to his old boarding ranch, where he was welcomed with lots of love and carrots & where his care brings me incredible peace of mind.
I unpacked most of the POD into a tiny rental house, but not everything would fit, so a half-filled POD went into storage.
But a funny thing happened when I started unpacking those boxes I thought I would never have to pack again. There was a box I hadn’t even unpacked when I moved to Florida.
There in the bottom of that smashed cardboard box marked “Fragile”, in an even smaller cardboard box, was an even smaller cardboard box marked “Making A Country Living”.
And you know what I found?
All the contents were in perfect condition.