A MOVING EXPERIENCE, Part II
Eight Checked, Two Carry-Ons
What could go wrong?
For a person who’s packed up and moved 57 times in her life, you might think just one more relocation wouldn’t be a very big deal. I’ve lived in major cities, small towns, most everywhere in the US, plus a gig in London a while back when I was married to a military man—Chicago, San Francisco, Washington, DC, Atlanta, San Diego, Norfolk, and so many more. As an independent contractor and consultant to the US DoD (among other jobs), I followed the money, chasing contracts and moving wherever I was needed.
It was a richly rewarding life on many levels, and I simply ignored the snide behind-my-back judgments, like “she can’t hold a job,” or “why can’t she just settle down?” This last was the often-vocalized opinion of my Southern Baptist relatives who never left Rocky Mount, NC, in their entire lives.
With the rise of digital nomadism in the post-pandemic world, my old job-hopping ways now seem more in line with modern career-lifestyles, and my younger friends don’t even blink when I start to rattle off the places I’ve lived and the gigs I’ve worked.
But this most recent move has been the biggest, most stressful, and scariest of all my moves combined. And with any luck, it will be my last.
Downsizing
Having traveled to Costa Rica many times over the years, I knew this country was going to be the best choice for my sunset years. Costa Ricans (aka “Ticos”) are happy people who live pleasant, colorful, and simple lives. Their homes are small, spotless, often with a vegetable garden, a couple of chickens, and dog or two whose social lives are mostly in the streets.
This was to be the first move where I had to decide what to take and what to leave behind. Mostly leaving behind. Oh no! My ornate marble-top coffee table, my gorgeous dining room set, my heirlooms, my FiestaWare collection, my SHOES! My art! My SUBARU!!!
Alas. More than half of my stuff had to go, much to the benefit of the local Goodwill folks. But giving up my treasured Subaru Crosstrek XV was the most painful, much like leaving behind a beloved pet, or worse. Is it possible to fall in love with a car? In my case, I think yes. For 10.5 years she had been my trusty steed in all terrain, all weather, back and forth to trade shows, cross-country more than once, always happy to give me a lift anywhere.
Even though it was a tough decision, it had to happen. Subarus with American specs do not do well in Costa Rica. Mechanics are not familiar with them and parts are almost impossible to get. Aside from the difficulty of finding parts, there’s a huge import tax on automobiles, and that tax is based on the value in CR, not in the USA, which means it costs almost as much to ship the car as it does to purchase another one down there. Add in import taxes and fees, and it makes no sense to ship it.
Ultimately, financial considerations overruled weepy emotional ones, but only barely.
My nextdoor neighbor bought the car, we signed all the papers, sales contract and title transfer, and the next day I was off to he airport before dawn. Just one little problem: I forgot to sign on a certain line on the title, the one where the Federal Government finds out what the mileage is so they can value the car. So, that line on that piece of paper has to be signed by the owner, me. Digital signatures are not accepted.
By the time I got the call I was sitting at the departure gate at LAX. To spare readers a very long and convoluted story of how we got my signature on that piece of paper in absentia (and possibly prevent a couple of arrests), let’s just say it got signed and the title got transferred, and no one will ever be the wiser.
In the meantime, I had purchased my new landlord’s SUV sight unseen, and would be picking it up in a couple days somewhere down the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. He said it’s a great car. I’m sure it must be if he says so, right?
The rest of the story
Sorting, donating, and packing all my stuff, while extracting myself and belongings from a 10-year shared residence on a 12-acre farm with multiple out-buildings, my studio, my storage unit, my garden and greenhouse — the mind boggles — took two full months of 8-hour days, dozens of cartons, rolls of packing tape, newsprint sheets, and bubble wrap, along with twice-weekly trips to the Goodwill.
I had booked a 20' container with the good folks at GetItHereJerry, and hired a local moving company to palletize and shrink-wrap my cartons and unpackable things to prepare for a rough ocean voyage.
Somehow it all got done in time for me to attend the Centrum-sponsored Port Townsend Writers Conference, have a 75th birthday party with my poetry group, attend a going away party with besties, drink too much champagne, and then be on my way.
This was only the beginning
Two months of decision-making, packing and donating, a week of hanging out with brilliant and inspiring writers, a few days of partying and hugging and good-byes, a loooooonnnnnnnggg and cramped flight to San José, and the adventure begins.
Will I get there on schedule? Will my bags arrive? Will my household goods make it through hurricane season in the Caribbean? Will I like my new (used) car? And the house I rented, what’s it going to be like? What’s anything going to be like?
Do stay tuned!