Held Prisoner in Hampton Roads

The joy of moving . . .

. . . not!

We spent the last five days moving out of our house in preparation for our move to Italy. The schedule:

Monday - Packing all the "stuff" to be stored for three years.
Tuesday - Loading all the "stuff" to be stored for three years.
Wednesday - Packing all the "stuff" to be shipped overseas.
Thursday - Loading all of the "stuff" to be shipped overseas.
Thursday - Move to a hotel. Why? Because all of our "stuff" is gone.
Friday - Packing and loading all of the "stuff" to be shipped overseas by air.

Seems like a complicated process, eh?

That's because I'm a Department of Defense employee, and that's the way the Yew Ess Ay Gummint does it.

In an idle moment I counted our moves. This will be number fourteen.

One to go - about three years from now. That will be the last.

I hope . . .

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Footnote:

When we moved from Omaha to Kansas City, we left one of our children there. Relax. She wasn't abandoned. We didn't sneak out in the middle of the night and leave no forwarding address. That had become her home.

When we moved from Kansas City to Virginia Beach, we left another child there. Same story. Same reasons.

The third child? After he saw us dropping off kids by the handful, he got the hint, and took off on his own.

Candidly, it's been a bit trying being 1,100 miles from all the children and grandchildren. Being 5,000+ miles away will be a challenge.

But what adventure doesn't involve some challenges?