Moving Moment

Moving Moment
By John R. Greenwood

"The American Dream is alive and well"

Jeff, Jim, Kevin (my son), and Neil

When you you've been married for four decades, breathing for six, and you're the parent of two adult sons, you've done more than your share of moving. I swore at the end of a lot of those moves that it would be my last. I think I'll stop making promises I can't keep. On the other hand, moving furniture is better than everyones last move. In that move we're accompanied on two sides by six of our closest friends.

I spent Saturday helping my son's family move into their new home. On the glass half full side, it was across town not across country. Even better; we had one large 27' box truck, three pickup trucks and one utility trailer. My son also had two long time friends and one long time friend/brother-in-law; all with their own families and afternoon plans. Let's just say this move had no chance of being a drawn out affair. All five of us were raring to go and four of them had young backs.

Let's get moving.

The best thing about a short move with lots of equipment is you don't have to fuss too much. Pack it smart but don't over do it. We were able to do just that. When your son's friends have homes and families of their own, you know they've been through the process enough times to know the drill.

Grab and go.

Repeat.

Saturday came on the anniversary of my mother's passing in 2004. I kept thinking October 17th had a deeper significance than just the move. When I realized why, it caused me to stop and reflect on what life is all about. I began to think back to my grandparents and their immigration to the United States and what it must have been like for them to move into their first home. The freedom and joy of having their own farm to raise six children on must have been exhilarating. They'd achieved the American Dream and look what followed. My parents and all of my mother's five siblings enjoyed the same dream. My sister, her sons, and I all raised families of our own, and now they were enjoying the culmination of their hard work and had homes of their own. It made me feel good about the last sixty years and everything that I'd been fortunate enough to experience. It made me angry to think about people who have "theirs" and want to build a wall to deny others the same joy. There is no perfect answer, no perfect fix. Who am I to say it's my right not yours?

How fortunate I've been. How fortunate we've all been. I do not take it for granted. 

The only walls we should be building are living room walls to hang our family memories on. 

Mr. Trump I don't want you in my neighborhood. 

Maybe you should move.

South. 

Somewhere hot. 

Roadside Gold

Roadside Gold 
By John R. Greenwood

It was October and I was on my way to work. The sky had a blue-grey tinge and the early morning sun illuminated Mother Nature's tree tops with a rusty glow so glorious I wanted to  send her a blank check. The autumn air was thick with moisture and a mile-wide rainbow. I pulled my car to the gravel shoulder, slammed it in park, grabbed my phone, and ran into the field to capture the moment. My pants were soaked to the shins and my shoes were caked with mud; it was heaven. 

Fall passes so briskly I felt lucky to have grabbed a handful all in one photo. Life's simple pleasures have a habit of showing up when you least expect them. You have to be prepared to recognize them when they manifest themselves. 

Gotcha.