It is a really hectic time for me—packing up to move from Texas to Oregon. This time for good. Just a few days and I’m really truly off. My final few days after 40 plus years here. Maybe I’m truly off in the math department. (40 years—really? how old of me!) Some sadness, of course. But it feels like good grief, knowing I’m hitting the road to hit a life long dream head on: living in the Oregon mountains. Amazing!
Long time comin’
The move is way over due, by decades. My house was falling apart around me. Six months ago, when I walked out that door, I half expected if I slammed it hard enough, the whole place would fall a part like a old and well-worn thousand piece puzzle. It didn’t.
All’s well that ends well. And it did. Very well, as the sale happening when it did allowed me enough money to travel for six months, hitting places where I have roots, and then being in Oregon while the finishing touches are put on my mountainside home. Then the Austin land prices decreased. Well guided, was I, in the moving on department. Such a blessing.
Counting Blessings
Maybe others would find it criminal all the packing and setting up in one new spot after another, but for me, it’s a whistle. (Crime like whistling, seem to be my two new favorite words in light of the upcoming book release.) Twenty years back and forth to Europe moving every week or so, trained me in the art of suitcase living. It seems luxurious this time that I got weeks and months in some places to settle in before having to pack again and go forth. Being free of the worries about major stuff regarding an old house’s health is another luxury, so appreciated. I’m happy and relaxed.
Except for…
This new baby book coming down the pike. Damn! Marketing the book is a lot harder than writing it. The prep work for hitting media alarm buttons is time and energy demanding. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like after 5 April the day it goes live on amazon, etc. Such a big, two year long fuss over such a little tyke. If I’d written a 500-page Henry Plotter block buster, I’d understand. But Whistler of Petty Crimes is less than 100 pages and nothing sensational. Just folk poetry, like folk music, a plain and simple joy to read, so the fuss, up front at least seems over the top. But I have a contract so off I go, trying to learn marketing, a field that I’m suspicious changes faster than I can change this bookbaby’s diapers. Oh well. I’ll live through it…I DO love the book, so whatever I can do for her is fine. Truly like a kid o’ mine.
Again, thank you so much for touching base when you can, everyone. I hope things continue to go well for you and yours.
Sending you lots of love and healing light,
ike