Our journey from "somewhere special to who-knows-where special" began in unexpected ways--as might be expected.When we made the painful decision …
By Charlene R. Johnson with input from Bernard Linnartz
Our journey from "somewhere special to who-knows-where special" began in unexpected ways--as might be expected.
When we made the painful decision to sell our beautiful home in this amazing Taos and find a new home that could prove a compromise between the dryness of high New Mexico desert and subtropical Florida humidity, our respective homes when we first came together, we didn't know that the first people who looked at our home would fall in love with it and want in sooner, rather than later.
Houses simply don't sell that quickly as evidenced by my Florida house, still on the market after nearly three years. But our Taos house did, and suddenly, we were faced with packing up what had been two households coming together less than three years ago (and still not properly triaged), into storage units. Besides that, I had already scheduled two classes of esoteric astrology in Calgary, Alberta and a long weekend of readings in Colorado Springs.
But the universe apparently supported this move. With 60 days to get out, we began our packing and triage in an ordered, methodical way. When I took off to Calgary to do my work, Bernie carried resolutely on.
And when I came back, we decided to purchase a camper for a more leisurely trip to Florida, and thence to explore the Southeast for a new home. We had already been discussing this idea, and when we saw the red Camplite by Livin' Lite, we knew we'd found our temporary home. In honor of Taos, we named her "The Red Chile Pepper."
We informed our eager buyers that we thought we could be out of the house five days earlier than contracted. They were delighted; we began wrapping it up.
One day before the new closing date of April 19, we joined a couple for dinner at one of our favorite Taos restaurants, Parcht. Walking back across La Placita to where the car was parked, I stepped onto an uneven curb, my ankle turned and down I went.
By 3:30 a.m. in the emergency room, we knew I'd broken my right foot. The great, well-organized speed we'd been making getting out of the house was cut by half. Far from ordered and methodical, the packing now became frantic and exhausting.
Things got so frantic that our third family member was becoming frantic along with us. So, we took Itty Bitty Bobcat (Bitty Bob) to 10,000 Wags for a calmer existence while we sorted out Plan B. Plan A was two cars, one pulling The Red Chile Pepper, the other pulling a small utility trailer with washer and dryer. Since I couldn't drive, we couldn't leave town.
The new homeowners kindly suggested we keep The Red Chile Pepper plugged into the house a couple of extra days, but knowing how eagerly they were already moving in, we wanted to give them the space they'd legitimately purchased. The Taos Valley RV campground became our new home.
On the day of closing, just to keep things interesting, I also had a dental appointment for two permanent caps. That dental appointment was, we thought, our last duty in Taos. A friend took me while her husband, Bernie and a couple of wonderful men from the Pueblo kept packing and hauling.
The caps were the wrong color. They had to put the temps back in and set up a rush order for another set of permanent caps. One hour before we were scheduled to close, the temps fell out. After closing, Bernie dropped me off at the dentist for the second time that day and raced back to the house to continue hauling and packing, hauling and packing.
One day after closing, we finally had everything out of the house and into five storage units at Hinds and Hinds. That evening, we both collapsed in our new camper home, exhausted, brain-dead and body sore, me from the unusual exertion on crutches and Bernie from lifting far more boxes than he'd originally planned. We giggled and cried as we collapsed, each of us seeing a new side of the other.
Our original plan had been to leave town three to four days after closing. Between the foot and the dental caps, we realized that Taos wanted us to slow down.
It was a darn good thing. Both of us were so sore and exhausted that for a couple of days, we continued to be foggy-brained and slow moving. It gave us the opportunity to visit with friends and say goodbye, and it finally gave me an opportunity to sit with my foot up and ice packs on the break. Amazing how the swelling goes down when you actually do that.
The rushed caps again were a bad match, so the decision was made to finish that job in Florida. Then we discovered that I had a blood clot behind my knee, apparently from the sudden inactivity of my right leg when I am an avid exerciser.
We were beginning to think that Taos would not turn us loose. However, a friend from Florida flew in to help drive the second rig, and we decided it was time to go. We were finally ready to leave town April 30. Having rested, said proper good-byes to home, friends, town and countryside, we were actually ready to hit the road.
Thank you, Taos for all you have meant to Bernie for 12 years and to me for three years. And thank you for reminding us to slow down and smell the desert roses.
Stay tuned for more adventures in "From Taos to Tomorrow," as Bernard C. Linnartz, Charlene R. Johnson, Itty Bitty Bobcat and The Red Chile Pepper hit the road and seek a new home, somewhere, some "when" in tomorrow. Linnartz was a long-time business columnist for The Taos News and Johnson wrote the Esoteric Astrology column in Tempo.
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