Westward Transit

With a feeling quite akin to anxiety—but nudged to do so by Brigitte—I can now report that our move, last referred to on June 4 (here) has now been completed except for the “closing ceremonies” on the sale of our old home, which still lie about a week ahead. Brigitte’s views are that now, what with a “new normal” gradually taking hold, some of the old normal, thus blog entries, should also be part of life again. Therefore…

We moved clean across the metro area from its eastern edge marked by Lake Saint Clair and, across her waters, Canada to the western region of Oakland County, not far from Ann Arbor, a region of countless little and big lakes. Ours is Wolverine Lake—but ours is surrounded by others: Loon Lake to the west of us, Mud Lake and Walled Lake to the south, Hawk Lake to the east, and Bass, Commerce, and Reed Lake to the north of us. Not surprisingly, perhaps, around here the street terrain has a European character. There is no real grid in any sense of the word. Main arteries that generally move in one of the map directions don’t do it in straight lines but resemble, rather, the paths of donkeys going from one to the next visible cactus. The environment is almost rural here—and my sidewalk edger, acquired not very long ago, is, still in a shiny state, probably entering its early retirement. No sidewalks here—but there are bicycle trails—and view of water, sky, and swans galore—yes, even from my current office, looking out the window; but I do have to roll back in my chair a little bit on this very blond and mutedly shiny hardwood floor…

We bought this house on May 30—and sold our old residence exactly the day before we planned to put it on the market. We view that event as miraculous—and bow our heads even thinking about it.

The move itself was a challenging experience, at our age, and therefore occasion for observing that one is called upon to learn even when approaching the last days when, as Tolkien’s tales have it, one is moving West. The challenge would have been impossible for us but for the massive assistance that reached us: All of our children came to help—as did my brother Baldy and Peggy his wife, and in the last week and counting, two of our grandchildren, Malcolm and Henry. What we left behind, most notably, from our family perspective, are the following words still written in chalk on the brick of the old house:

In large letters:

MAX SLEPT HERE

AND

STELLA

In smaller letters adjoining that AND:

MALCOM AND HENRY

Generations come and generations pass. The one constant is change. It is very nice when one big change has come and gone and one settles down to await the next one down the line…