Well, would you look at that.
We made it.
To Arizona. To the new house. To the next chapter. And, most remarkably, with the same number of animals we started with.
I’m calling that a win.
The last several weeks have been absolute, spectacular, occasionally hilarious chaos. A house to sell in Michigan, a house to buy in Arizona, a career to relocate, a lifetime of belongings to sort through, and so much paperwork I’m still recovering.
There were movers, packers, auctions, contractors, and more than a few moments when I was reasonably certain I’d lost my mind. And a tractor that finally sold, which felt like a little financial confetti from the universe on my way out the door. 🥳
Thanks, universe. I’ll take it.
But in the middle of all that chaos, there were my people.
Oh, my people.
Kristine pulled together my work send-off, giving me one last chance to see so many of the people who helped shape the career that ultimately brought me here.
From there, it was an overnight stay at chez-Singleton and a trip to Bronner’s for Christmas in October, courtesy of Kristine’s girls, who apparently decided my Christmas spirit needed an intervention.
And, frankly, they weren’t wrong.
Last Christmas was spectacularly awful, and my enthusiasm for all things merry and bright had taken a pretty significant hit.
But leave it to those girls to drag me into the world’s largest Christmas store and remind me that I actually LOVE Christmas.
The ornaments. The lights. The ridiculous amount of glitter. All of it.
Apparently, my Christmas spirit wasn’t gone. It just needed a little peer pressure and several thousand square feet of holiday merchandise.
Who knew?
Christmas is officially back on the menu.
Then came Sunday, when friends and family filled the house with hugs, laughter, a few tears, and promises to visit. They also sent us off with enough road-trip snacks to sustain a small army.
Snacks packed with love. And Mountain Dew.
Obviously.
Because emotional support is wonderful, but emotional support with a cold Mountain Dew is better.
What an extraordinary reminder of how much love surrounds me. And while I was the one driving across the country, I certainly didn’t get here alone.
In fact, I had quite the entourage.
Three dogs. Two Maine Coons. One son. And one cross-country adventure.
I’d envisioned an enormous SUV carefully configured for the traveling zoo. But through a spectacular scheduling mistake (entirely mine), I ended up with a minivan instead.
A MINIVAN.
My initial reaction was, “Um, no. I don’t do minivans.”
But then the rental agent said magic words.
Stow & Go.
SOLD.
I’ve never been more delighted by my own mistake.
The disappearing seats made room for kennels, dog beds, an elaborate feline condominium complete with a hammock, AND every item I’d somehow “forgotten” to send with the movers. My cats and dogs had better accommodations than most people flying economy.
Leo had just returned from training, where he’d apparently learned some manners while also terrorizing a boxer named Elwood, stealing toys, and mistaking another dog for a rabbit. (Sorry, fluffball. Pointers gonna point. They’re not trying to be rude.)
We were ready.
Well, ready-ish.
And then, just like that, it was time to go.
We pulled away from the Michigan house that had held so much of our life. Leaving was bittersweet, of course, but we barely made it to the end of the driveway before spotting the GIANT moving truck with our kayaks strapped to the back.
And we busted out laughing.
Leave it to us to make our movers look like the outdoor-adventure Beverly Hillbillies. 🤦🏼♀️
Honestly, it was probably the most appropriate possible beginning to this particular road trip.
Greg decided to provide international entertainment. He spent much of the journey speaking to me in every accent known to mankind. I’m fairly certain we visited most of the globe linguistically before we ever crossed the Arizona state line.
The animals, shockingly, were wonderful.
Well, mostly.
Sadie, my nine-year-old German Shorthaired Pointer and lifelong DIVA, took one look at the ridiculously expensive travel bed I’d purchased specifically for her comfort and decided that absolutely would not do.
She would be traveling on a lap, thank you very much.
Mine or Greg’s. She wasn’t particular. Just so long as she was physically attached to one of us.
The. Entire. Trip.
Including when we stopped to sleep.
We’d decided to sleep in the minivan rather than attempt to haul five animals into hotels every night, and I stand by that decision.
Mostly.
Imagine sleeping in an airplane seat for three consecutive nights, except the airplane is parked, there’s a dog on your lap, and nobody comes by with a beverage cart.
Five stars for convenience. Negative twelve for comfort.
Somewhere along the way, we stopped at what might be the most ridiculous truck stop on the planet. I couldn’t tell you exactly where it was because, at this point, the entire journey is one long blur of interstate highways, gas stations, and Greg speaking in accents.
But I can tell you that I bought a geode.
A small one.
Which is noteworthy only because I came dangerously close to purchasing one roughly the same height as me.
A HUMAN-SIZED GEODE.
In the middle of a cross-country move. With five animals. In a minivan. For roughly the price of a small country.
Thank God there wasn’t room.
Although, in my defense, it was a really spectacular rock.
And throughout all those miles, there was another very precious passenger along for the ride.
Marc.
We carried his ashes from Michigan to Arizona, but he was just as present in the conversations, memories, and laughter that filled the van.
Greg and I spent plenty of time imagining what Marc would have said about this adventure, my questionable roadside purchases, and all the things he and Greg would have teamed up to tease me about.
Because those two had material.
Like the time Marc was moving Greg and me home from Idaho. I woke up near Salt Lake City, saw an enormous flame in the distance, and excitedly announced:
“LOOK! IT’S THE OLYMPIC TORCH! I DIDN’T KNOW THEY KEEP IT LIT FOREVER IN A HOST CITY!”
It was a refinery.
A REFINERY.
And I have NEVER lived it down.
To this day, every refinery is the Olympic torch in our family. And I hope it always will be.
That’s the wonderful thing about years of loving someone and raising a family together. You build an entire language of inside jokes, ridiculous stories, and phrases that mean absolutely nothing to anyone else but can send your family into fits of laughter.
And those stories are still ours to tell.
I could practically hear Marc questioning the cats’ hammock, my roadside purchases, and the number of chandeliers and chairs I’ve decided are essential in our new house.
He would have been wrong about the chairs, obviously.
But I would have enjoyed the debate.
So yes, all three of us made it to Arizona. Just not in the way we’d once imagined.
And somehow, between Greg’s international accents, Sadie’s insistence on being worn like a weighted blanket, three nights of questionable sleep, a near acquisition of a geological monument, and the stories that kept Marc riding along with us, we crossed the country.
And arrived.
At my beautiful new house in the desert.
A house with enough decorating decisions to keep me thoroughly entertained for years. Our belongings arrive tomorrow, so for now we’re living a rather involuntary minimalist lifestyle, but I already love this place.
It’s a home for my other two children to come to whenever they’re ready, for friends and family to visit, for dogs to bark at entirely new wildlife, and for cats to silently judge us from new windowsills.
A place for new memories, new laughter, and whatever adventures come next.
Which, as it turns out, began almost immediately.
Because I’d been in Arizona for less than TWENTY-FOUR HOURS when the state decided to welcome me with extreme fire danger, lightning, and a massive dust storm straight out of the Book of Revelation.
Every phone in the house started SCREAMING.
IMMINENT THREAT ALERT. DUST STORM WARNING. ZERO VISIBILITY. PULL ASIDE, STAY ALIVE!
Well, HELLO, ARIZONA.
Lovely to meet you, too.
I looked across the street at what appeared to be hellfire and brimstone (see picture in header 😳) and imagined my new coworkers at Republic Services thinking:
“Of course it looks like hellfire and brimstone outside. Jamie got here yesterday.”
😂😂😂
For the record, I deny any responsibility for the weather. Although, after the last nine months, I understand why Mother Nature might have assumed I preferred a dramatic entrance.
Apparently, even the desert knows I don’t do anything halfway.
So here we are. A new house, a new chapter, five animals, one exhausted son, a geode, an extraordinary collection of memories, and an awful lot to look forward to.
We made it.
And I couldn’t be more excited about what’s next.
Although tomorrow, we really need to discuss the chandeliers.
Because I’ve just realized I don’t have one for my closet.
And after everything, I think we can all agree this girl deserves a chandelier in her closet.
I had one in Michigan, for heaven’s sake.
I’m moving forward, not lowering my standards.
