Move 'em Out

Boise is the Kevin Bacon of the West.  Almost everyone I talk to about it has a connection ... a friend, a relative, a memory ... all stemming from one place.  Everyone that is, except DH and I.  Irony?  Probably.  Up until a year ago Boise wasn't even on our short list of places to live.  Then one day, last summer, we got a little postcard advertisement in the mail.  There was a practice in Boise looking for a new member.  Since it was the first of its kind for us, DH proudly hung it on the inside of our closet door saying, "Who knows.  This could be a great place."  

Fast forward to today.  After the last box was loaded and the Green Goblin secured, our huge moving semi closed its doors and hit the road.  Trailing behind it in the van, I watched as it merged onto the freeway, and I realized this is real.  And so permanent.

We've moved a lot in the past 10 years.  And in every new place we would inevitably be asked, "So how long are you planning to be here?"  And every time I could give a definite answer ... 2 years, 3 years, 6 months ...  but not this time.  There is no expiration date on this move.  We're hoping it's for a long while.  That's scary and exhilarating all in the same moment.

And though I've mastered the box packing and the rental checkout, there's one thing about moving I haven't learned how to do: say goodbye.  I really hate them.  So, to all our friends we've made here, this is not a goodbye.  It's a "see you later."  You can always see us here on this blog.  Or in your mailbox on a Christmas card.  Or, better yet, in person, when we come back, as we will often do.  Or, when you come to Boise for whatever reason, you will have a place to stay and a warm meal.  Because now you have one more connection to the Treasure Valley ... ME (and the other Smiths that come with me).