I’d agreed to join Mike in California and that we’d get a travel trailer, but there were a lot of tasks to accomplish before that could happen.
After many discussions, we decided we’d return to our Maui house after this sojourn, which would last until the end of Mike’s mom’s life. During that time, however long it was, we’d buy the trailer and work the road trip bug out of our systems.
We set a goal of a month until I joined Mike on the Russian River. He’d find a rental for us, and I’d pack up what we couldn’t part with and get rid of the rest, preparing the Maui place to be rented.
But the reality of extracting myself, which included quitting my counseling clinics and leaving my clients, telling my family and friends, and then sorting our multitudinous belongings… well, it was all deeply unpleasant.
I’d agreed to this plan with my eyes open, but Mike wasn’t there and the tasks were daunting.
He couldn’t help me deal with tearful clients, let alone sort four different sizes of rubber scrapers, dispose of twenty years worth of mismatched, topless Tupperware, and decide which of three Pyrite lasagna pans was worth keeping—and that was just one example from the kitchen.
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