#5 Stop the Truck, Change of Plans!

The moving truck was headed west; we went south instead.

Ten months after selling our Michigan house due to the embarassing bankruptcy , I landed a fifth-grade position at a brand-new school in Palm Desert after my husband found work there. He interviewed as a stringer for the Desert Sun paper and also for a Public Relations position at another company. We didn’t see any red flags; we saw opportunity, high life and getting out of Dodge for a fresh start. Flown out two different times and put up at Marriott’s Desert Springs Resort; renting a convertible embraced our dream of California living even more. We visited high schools for our daughter to choose which one. We’d uprooted her so many times…how thoughtful of us to finally consider her feelings.

She liked the principal, the basketball coach…the friendly student tour guides. We rented a nearby apartment for September and were all set. Her French teacher took the class to France for two weeks as tenth grade ended. When August rolled around, I dropped her off at basketball camp in Indiana and headed to my sister’s house in Georgia, leaving Jim in charge of the moving truck this time.

Thirteen years younger, sis had moved south after her wedding and had two little ones I couldn’t wait to see. I knew nothing about the state but listening to Ray Charles put Georgia on my mind. How lucky to live in even-temp weather, no snowy winters.

Jim and I had already packed and organized everything…the plan was to get my girl on the way back north and follow the truck to southern California, with plenty of time to acclimate to a new home, new school and new jobs. His parents were in San Francisco. My folks, travelers that they were visiting my brother in Australia every few years, were delighted with a new place to visit.

Just before I was to leave, Jim called…” don’t think we should go,” he said, “but movers come tomorrow.” The PR offer was off the table, and he didn’t want to drive all over the desert to find stories. As I relayed it all to my sister, she simply said, “get a job here, he’ll find something.” I called the local school system, got an interview, borrowed a dress and wouldn’t you know…so close to school starting, they needed a teacher for fourth grade!

The lucky prairie woman dress I wore to get a teaching job, thanks to my sister!

It all happened so fast…me disbelieving I got hired, that I took charge of our future, that Jim was okay with it, relieved I think. This was before cell phones and email, but he did what he did best…called the moving company and shouted Stop the truck! Change of plans. Must have been conveyed via walkie-talkie. I quickly rented a storage unit in Cobb County for a delivery address. We laughed about it for years; him relishing and embellishing how his ‘stop the presses’ editor’s voice turned the truck around…as if that’s what made us Southerners!

Change of plans I told my daughter when she got in the car. How’d you like to live near Aunt Karen? What else could she do…all our moves, her London/Paris trip, basketball camp and gypsy-like parents…she went with the flow. “Can I choose the high school?” was all she asked.

The basketball coach was glad to have her! She joined varsity and made friends from day one of junior year.

Our son chose to stay put with his job, Fire Academy courses and finishing out the Michigan apartment lease. We drove both cars down just in time for school to start. Staying with my sister, Jim had motivation to find us a place to live, pronto! Lady Luck was with us again…a beautiful three-bedroom townhouse for rent, a mile from the high school.

No photos of this home we lived in for eight years; but so many milestones and memories to recall. After a year in the classroom and a few principal interviews, I realized being with kids, doing bulletin boards, teaching reading and writing again was it for me, not administration. I became part of the staff opening a brand-new building near our home. Funny how the universe knows when, where and what is best for us. Ha…even funnier, Jim grabbed the first job he found…Washington Post’s offer to become a stringer! He didn’t like being gone for weeks at a time, but guess what? That dream we had of desert high life…it came in a different form when he soon became editor in another sandy paradise…Aruba. I’ve written about that time here.

By now our daughter had graduated and returned to Michigan to attend college. They visited the island during holidays and summer break, enjoying beach and pool time. Night life too…drinking age was eighteen back then. The paper was doing well, but paradise and late nights got old. Yep…he looked for another job!

For two years we lived apart again as he oversaw another newsroom in Norristown, Pennsylvania. I applied for teaching jobs, but PA did not accept my GA certification… so I stayed put at the school I loved. Blessing in disguise I knew in my heart. Visiting each other every few weeks and introduction to phone sex kept us close. Empty nesters acting like illicit lovers!

Those years in the townhome saw our son get married, had us in the world spotlight during Atlanta’s ‘96 Olympics…where I volunteered at the tennis venue, Jim finally back home with an editorial position for a digital health publication, and my parents delighted with both daughters in the same state.

Early mornings, meet the bus, get our assignments. Mine was mostly ushering spectators to seats and shushing them during matches.

It was early January when we took a meandering drive to my sister’s house in the country. Too early for dinner, we drove through a new subdivision where a model-home-open-house grabbed our attention. Could we do it? Could we finance now that the bankruptcy was far enough behind us? The rest is history…we bought the model house on the corner, anchoring a seven-home cul-de-sac. We lived here for seventeen years…almost 25 years in Georgia! The longest we lived anywhere. Where this empty nest soon became a grandma and grandpa house!

One of my favorites, a memory to cherish from my neighbor who took this from her porch after a storm, a few months after Jim passed away.

I wrote about this house years ago as I prepared to move back to Michigan. You can find it here- Selling and Saying Goodbye.

That’s it folks. I’ve been in my rented condo for nine years now, not far from where our story began at Crooked Lake.

Thanks for reading each chapter. I didn’t realize I’d be telling my life story! So nice finding old pics and reminiscing it all with my kids and grandkids. How lucky we are they remember all the joy this house gave.

Planted this tree in our front yard in the fall of 1997, not realizing it would become the climbing tree for our grandchildren.

Be well, be happy, be kind! Joan 😊

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