We finished up everything at the house on Saturday afternoon. Later, I must admit, than we planned. With our final errands run and the house cleaned up and locked tight, our storage pods had left for the terminal and we were free at last.

And tired. So very, very tired.

We headed out to Front Royal to see family and friends. A cookout on Saturday night gave us a chance to see a bunch of people we don’t get to see very often, and we stayed with Paul, one of my best friends from High School, in the old 19th century farmhouse that he completely remodeled last year. It was my first chance to visit the place, and it was absolutely stunning. It was a reminder, once again, of what we love about Virginia. We sat on the stone patio, under the stars, drinking cold beer and talking about our lives, where they’ve taken us and where we think we might be going.

Sunday was Kiana’s birthday, and we didn’t get to do as much for her as we’d have liked. Brunch with family, a late Latin Mass, and some general hanging around delayed our departure to visit more friends in Pennsylvania, just north of Baltimore. We arrived late, and got a tour for the second time in so many days of a new (old) house, with all the potential that lies therein. Two sets of friends, two homes, two families that have finally found a place to call home and not leave again. The sense of permanence and contentment at each place is a little hard for me. I’m jealous. I want a home for my family, and stability for my kids. I want my wife to be able to make that home her own, and fill it with the things that will offer us comfort, familiarity, and a measure of peace.

Instead, we find ourselves nomads again. Detached, drifting, moving somewhere we know will only be temporary, trying to figure out where and when we’ll ever be able to settle down, fit in, and plant some roots.

All the same, I am enjoying the hospitality of our gracious hosts. Today, we got a late start, tired and needing to do laundry from a week living out of suitcases. By the time breakfast was done and I had switched the loads, I laid down and fell quickly asleep. The exhaustion of packing up and moving out in just two and a half weeks has finally caught up to us, I think. It’s nice to take a breath and go slow, even if I feel some pressure to get on the road. We were going to head West today, but we’ve decided to delay it one more day. Instead, it sounds like we’ll be heading out to a lake. The kids could use a real break, and time to play and have fun, rather than be cooped up in the car.

I, on the other hand, could use another cup of coffee.

Final preparations are being made for the move. The “ReloCubes” are all packed and ready to go. We hoped to fill only two and save some bucks, but we wound up filling three. Even with everything we’ve gotten rid of - and believe me, we’ve gotten rid of A LOT - it’s still hard to fit all the belongings of a family of six into three 6’ X 7’ X 8’ shipping containers.

Last night I had to go out and rip out the remains of our garden so we can get the final yardwork taken care of. Having never been here in the summer, I miscalculated the location of sun and shade (we have a lot of old, tall trees) and we wound up with a garden that didn’t get nearly enough sunshine to flourish. With all the rain we got this year, everything grew, but we had minimal fruiting. So I was surprised when I went out and pulled about five pounds of ripe tomatoes and at least ten pounds of green ones. I don’t know that we’ll have the chance to use them, but I saved them in the hopes that we could find someone who would.

We were lucky enough to find a family with five young children who could use most of our food, including the many Asian ingredients we keep in our cupboards. We have to empty out the rest of the fridge today, but trash came this morning, so I hope we got anything we’re not giving away or using out of there already.

We still have odds and ends that have to come out of the house - a desk, several area rugs, couches (being picked up by some college kids), an end table, and a toaster oven. We then have to pack our car, put any remaining free stuff to the curb, and bring some items that we’ve sold or are donating to their respective destinations.

We gave away a lot of stuff for free this time because of our time constraints, but I can’t say it bothers me. It feels good to unencumber ourselves from some of the things we’ve accumulated. Would we use them? Probably. Are we losing money on them? Definitely. But it’s freeing to be rid of them nonetheless.

The final cleaning is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and then we’re officially nomads. We’re hoping to visit people this weekend before we get on the road, and then, if possible, to see some friends on our drive out West. I’m looking forward to the trip - moreso than the destination. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing when I get there, and can’t even claim to have much in the way of expectations. We have a lot to figure out, starting with how long we are going to stay once we get there. If we’re invested for at least a couple of years like I think we will be, it seems sensible to start up a business while we’re there, but that will probably commit us to several more years, which wasn’t really what we had in mind. We’re leaving our lives out here, where we had begun to plant roots - my whole family, most of our friends, our parish, the places we know and love, you name it. And while I’m always up for adventure, we don’t want to get stuck somewhere we really never wanted to be.

But life is giving us lemons, and I intend to make the best damn lemonade on the market. Ironically, when I was a kid, I had an actual lemonade stand, and I loved every minute of it. I learned that I had an entrepreneurial streak, even if it later went dormant. Maybe this metaphorical lemonade that I need to make is exactly the kind of refreshing beverage I need to wake that entrepreneurism back up.

Something tells me my analogy isn’t really working. I think I need caffeine. Actually, I’m sure of it - I’m tired as all heck and it’s time to power my way through the last day at the office. I think a Venti Iced Coffee is in order.

It appears that the great adventure is upon us again.

We had planned to settle down here in Northern Virginia. To plant roots. To stay put, more or less, for the rest of our days.

But God, it seems, had other plans.

Events have unfolded at a furious pace. First, my job security evaporated, right at about the same time I realized, in a panic, that I had more or less plateaued in my industry (barring some unforseen willingness to kiss up and pretend I wanted the life of a PR executive). We were paying our bills, but only just, and as the economy ground to a halt, our depreciating dollars were spread too thin, or, in the incomparable words of Bilbo Baggins, “Like butter scraped over too much bread.” Our house, always cozy, was gradually closing in as we welcomed child number four into the world, and we ran out of corners in which to keep our stuff. We looked for opportunities to buy a small farm, or start a business, or do something to clear a path to the future, but nothing came into view, and times grew more tense.

And then, while my wife was in Arizona attending to some family matters, the seed of an idea began to sprout.

“We may need to consider moving back to help out dad,” she informed me one evening over the phone. “He’s doing too much, and he’s getting too old to do it.”

Characteristically, I resisted. We had both sworn off Arizona forever, after our last attempt at living there had gone to hell. Neither of us liked it there - she having grown up there, and I having lived there on two separate occasions for various reasons - and we were perfectly content back East.

But I did some backroom dealing with the Good Lord, and I told him if it was what He wanted, and what needed to be done, I’d go there no questions asked. Jamie and the kids came home, and I thought no more about it.

But it was only a matter of days before we got the news that her brother had died at the too-young age of 45.

Now, God works in mysterious ways, and I may be the sort who tends to question them (despite what I said before about not doing that) but in the end I always acquiesce. I don’t know why things happened the way they did, but it set in motion a chain of events that has led us to where we are today: packing the house, selling our furniture, and preparing to move in only about two weeks’ time to Tucson, Arizona. More than any other decision in our lives, it seems like a grossly incongruous thing to do. And unlike most other things in our lives, it’s resoundingly clear that this is precisely what we should do.

Fans of Robert Jordan may at times in their lives identify with the phrase, “Death is lighter than a feather; duty heavier than a mountain.” All week, I’ve been repeating that bit of wisdom to myself from the novels I read in my youth.

But while there’s an undeniable reluctance to go, sell all we own, and follow the Oregon Trail (with a slight left turn at Alburquerque), there’s also an oasis in the damned desert: a chance for us to start a business of our own, a make-or-break opportunity to grab the future by the reins and shoot for a better life, even if it isn’t necessarily in a better place. And some day, with a bit of luck and some success, we hope beyond hope that we can come back to the lush, green, civilized places of the world. We’re East Coast people, and this will always be our home.

I don’t know much about what I intend to do with this blog. It’s more of a journal than the sort of commentary I have habitually provided readers over the years. I’ll use it to post photos, to offer updates to the friends and family we leave behind, and to generally tell the story of this latest, unexpected chapter in the great choose-your-own-adventure novel we call “life”.

Stay tuned.