Goodbye speech

I wrote the following to give at our farewell luncheon two days from now. Had to get it done before they wrapped up my computer for shipping...

"I write these words surrounded by boxes, paper, muddy floors, the sound of tape being laid and the smell of cardboard. Bill and I are exhausted beyond belief and still not finished. My home office is the only safe zone left, door is closed and movers ordered not to enter until the very end.

The end is near, so I must gather my thoughts about how to say goodbye to you, my many friends and coworkers. Both of us have procrastinated about something hard to do the last few weeks. These words are my “hard to do.”

Nearly 18 years ago I came to Europe saying “three years and I’m outta there.”

Obviously, I failed in that pledge.

I am the family wanderer. The one that goes out on the edge, according to my younger sister. I have always gone places and done things no one else did because I always tend to find the wonder in things and places and, even now, maintain an interest and curiosity.

My 18 years in Europe have been so very interesting. I have travelled to places I never thought I'd see. I have ridden a camel in Cairo, driven a jeep over frighteningly high, rail-free bridges in Croatia, danced in Turkey, stood on the edge of a volcano in Italy, eaten roasted chestnuts in London and pigeon in Egypt, spent the night in a thatched cottage on a stormy Aran island. I have been in every DeCA Europe country except Saudi.

They have been curious…just this week I found a dead bat in the guest room of my house, a curiosity I could have done without!

They have been hazardous to my health. Broke my left wrist first at Germersheim some years ago and again in Livorno just last June. Did my first-ever emergency hospital stay in August from the car accident I shared with Bill and Gerlinde.

The years have been mostly wonderful.

Wonderful was doing thousands of miles on the road with John Hoca, Arno Franke and Earl Taylor who became my dearly beloved brothers, far beyond the state of co-workers. Wonderful was getting to know Gerlinde and treasuring her friendship forever. We will spend our last few days in Germany in her company.

Wonderful was making friends from so many countries as I went around on official travel and opened more new stores than I care to remember. As silly as I sometimes think it is, it is nice to know I have Mohamed Enein as a friend on Facebook so we don’t lose touch.

Wonderful was working with and for Mike Dowling, as fine a boss and friend as I could have asked for.

Wonderful is having too many people to say thanks to for making me welcome and at home in this country. It has been a privilege to work and live here and I will cherish it forever. DeCA people are amazing. They are dedicated, energetic, and caring always.

Wonderful is having met William Pulley. A more patient, kind, caring, supportive and loving man I could not have wished for. I hope he will be by my side for a long time and I intend to be a real nag about him kicking the cigarette habit as soon as this stressful transition is over in order to ensure his long life.

Not so wonderful has been an extreme workload loaded with stress. That, coupled with the accidents in 2009, joined forces to make me finally say genug, enough, I am finished. With that I will give you one word of wisdom based on my life.

Work hard, take pride in what you do, always help others, but do not forget to help yourself. Do not sacrifice more of your personal life than is prudent or healthy. If you do, you may end up with bats in your bedroom and a garage full of trash.

Thank you, vielen danke, alles gute, auf wiedersehen.

Too late to turn back now

We were up at 0530 today. Up, but dragging. Each day layers upon the next and we have seven more big days to go. Sleep is brief and fitful--mind kicks in, wakes us up and we start having a case of "what about's..." What about tomorrow? What about the car? What about the food in the fridge? What about protecting all the important papers, keys, passports?

What about bringing all this to an end?

Our feet hurt, our backs, Bill's head cold; our hands have turned to sandpaper.

We swear we will never accumulate so much stuff again.

We pray for no more snow in Germany.

We sighed when we opened the email from one of our house watchers in Blacksburg who sent pictures of the two feet of snow surrounding our new house and of the damage inside the great room from snow on the roof. Not a good winter to own an empty house. Our new floors we wanted done this month while we were not there, will probably not get done now until we after arrive. Road and driveway conditions have delayed it.

My cousin Mike who lives about 3 miles away, took his front loader to the house and cleared the driveway a couple days ago. Thank goodness for family with big toys. Does he have a giant blower that could get the snow off the roof?

We pray for no more snow in Blacksburg.

Bill's house packed out in two days this week. We were blessed with an excellent crew. Will we be that lucky with my house? We staggered out of his place and returned to mine to get ready for the next pack out round.

Today Bill has gone back to his house to wait for the pickup of the military loaner furniture and appliances he has and to clean the garage. I am at my house doing the same thing. We finished cleaning my washer, dryer and fridge after 11 o'clock last night and quit when we could hardly stand it any more.

Including today, we have three days before the movers come to pack up my whole house. At the end of day one, we move into a hotel. It will be a hard week, but at least the last one for awhile. Friends at work ask if we are having second thoughts or are we ready? It is too late for second thoughts. Moving has a way of making you ready--ready to end this difficult ending and get on to the new beginning.

Friday, 12 Feb...another snowfall

It started snowing again early yesterday morning and isstill doing it at 10 a.m. today. At least it calmed down from the wind. Another eight inches of Ivory Snow flakes have covered my tracks in the drive from yesterday afternoon when I moved my little rental car out of the garage to the front off-street parking to keep from being permanently marooned in the house. Later, I traipsed across the street when I saw the snow plow moving around. Cute snow buster man Johannes agreed to do my drive again today and gave me his phone number so I could call whenever I need him. Those tracks were covered by the time he arrived this morning and scrapped off another layer of this dastardly stuff.

Testing the tiled front porch with one foot while hanging on to the wall, I quickly encountered something like jello on glass and gave up on the thought of sweeping snow away from the entrance. Wading through the piles from the garage to the bottom of the steps, I was able to shovel a little path from where Johannes left off to the brick stoop and clear the snow from the steps which are sort of a pebble aggregate surface not as slick as the tile. I cleared the porch as far as the broom could reach without me stepping off the aggregate. A treacherous patch of about three feet still sports a half inch of snow offering great risk to all who walk there. With my history of accidents over the last year, I refuse to venture on to it. I take a piece of cardboard and write in big letters "Geht nicht!! Glatt Eis! Vorsicht!!" and place it at the bottom of the steps. I have no more streusalz (combo of sand and salt for the sidewalks). Neither does Germany!

Upstairs, my balcony is a foot-deep drift created by a funnel cloud of wind and snow between two bordering roofs. It reaches all the way back to the deep-set wall of glass lining my upstairs hallway. I've never seen this happen. When the temperature finally gets above freezing, this melting knoll will drip into my art room below for a month unless I can somehow get it off. Under it lies another of the slippery white tile surfaces so I am not inclined to tackle it. Even the dreaded cleaning of my huge closet seems like a more attractive task.

Bill works in his house and I work in mine. We call each other to commiserate. About the safe room lock that won't lock until taken apart twice. About having no idea where the compiled folder of the tax papers I put aside for safe keeping actually is. About cabin fever. About eating the six leftover manicotti tubes for dinner last night with no stuffing in them just to get them gone. About being in withdrawal because I have totally run out of Pepsi.

We think we are being punished for leaving. Snow after snow complicates the moving process needed to get out of Germany. At our new home in Blacksburg, the flooring men can't get up the hill to our house to do the floor change we wanted done before we arrived. There is no escaping it.

Moving from Europe times two

The whole process of moving one household lock, stock and antique from Europe back to the U.S. is a bear. To do what Bill and I are doing--moving two complete households, and two cars at the same time we are going to work nearly every day--is a recipe for meltdown.

Dealing with all the necessary paperwork of both retiring and moving with no central point of information and guidance has been frustrating and time wasting. Because of our status here--we both came over on separate orders and must go back that way--every single paper and process has to be done twice as we stay in our respective homes and get them ready by ourselves. Tomorrow, at last, we have an appointment to go to the transportation office to set schedules for packing and pick up of household goods and moving of cars. We've decided to ship Bill's goods first so his house will empty and he'll come stay with me for a few days and help with the last minute things before my packout. My house is closer to our work location so it made sense to do it that way. My car will ship first so we can keep his and use his roomier storage compartment for hauling things around.

From Europe we will wade through six shipments all of which ship at different times and take at least 30 days in transit:

1. Two of unaccompanied baggage (military lingo for small-shipment-of-kitchen-linen-clothes-TV-tools to ship early, arrive early and help you set up house in a primative manner at your home of record or alternate destination), packed into wooden crates, put on trucks, moved to a container ship, sailed across the ocean to Norfolk, Va., taken off the ship, onto trucks, driven to 931 (number of our new house in Blacksburg), taken off the trucks and hauled into the house, placed by the workers wherever we tell them so we have stuff to wear, dishes to cook with and eat from, no table upon which to eat, no bed upon which to sleep because all that is too big for this baggage shipment; tools for hanging pictures if only we had some, a mini computer if only we had a service. Etc.
2. Two major loads of household goods (see transportation route in 1. above)
3. Two cars placed in seagoing containers and shipped into either Richmond or Norfolk, arriving several weeks after we get there and several weeks apart. Note to self: buy Hertz stock now. (See transportation route in 1. above minus the personal delivery to our driveway.)

Don't forget, what gets shipped out must get shipped in and we must be standing ready at the door on all days of delivery to watch the trucks back down our long forest drive, watch the men tromp dirt and snow into our lovely house, over the beautiful oak flooring and off-white carpet to place each piece and unpack each box, praying the whole time that nothing was stolen or broken.

On my move over here, the head board to my long-sought and treasured bedroom set came in the door in two pieces, reducing me to tears at the end of a stressful day all alone save the German movers. Moments after seeing it, a lovely neighbor showed up with a pot of coffee in one hand and a kid in the other, took one look at me and invited me next door for wine instead.

In the U.S. already, we both have non-temporary storage of items we decided not to ship here. For me, non-temp means 17 years but I guess neither myself or the storage folks had any idea I'd stay so long and therefore really should have called it long-term storage.

1. From Norfolk to Blacksburg they will deliver my relatively small amount (I hope) probably before any of the European shipments arrive or at least they will if we ever actually get them a set of orders and our overall schedule. The most welcome thing that will come from that shipment will be a small dining table and chairs and maybe the ping pong table to help us while away empty hours waiting for the next onslaught.
2. From Richmond they will deliver something belonging to Bill. He doesn't remember what he stored but thinks maybe there is a wash machine which, of course, we no longer need because the house is equipped with all appliances. So now we'll have to sell or scrap an extremely heavy piece of useless metal.

Somewhere in this schedule my car will arrive somewhere and we'll have to drive all over the place to get rid of rental, pick up shipped car, get it registered, inflate the tires, put gas in it, hope nothing got damaged or stolen and drive back to Blacksburg with the car least helpful for carting things around. Did I mention we will then have to repeat the scenario for Bill's PT Cruiser x number of weeks later?

I will never move again.

And we're moving in February why??

(Photo is view from my home office door which opens on to the front porch of my beautiful home in Queidersbach, Germany.)

It has been snowing for a week.

All the locals told us it would be a hard winter. They were right, but seems a large part of the world is experiencing the same misery. Where we are trying to move from is covered in a white blanket even as the place we are moving to is getting pounded hard for the second time this year. "We haven't had much snow in five or six years," my cousin told me when I inquired as to the winter weather in Blacksburg.

It was certainly not our plan to move in February. We wanted to be out of here before then but all the accidents and recovery times just kept pushing us later and later.

This morning I cannot see the dense ivy at my front door. The trees are coated white yet again--the last coating never left, it just got added to. The funny front yard sculpture of a dog with his nonexistent head stuck in a hole in the ground is unseen, the only hint of his location being marked with a little mound of snow over the tip of his tail. Inside the metal body is a complete ant colony I discovered when I tried to move it to a new location. What are they doing now, buried in frozen darkness? I should have removed him and my favorite terracotta yard items into the garage while I had the chance this fall.

At the side patio I have been sprinkling seed on the bricks to make it easier for all the birds to find. I will run out soon. Seven fat blackbirds are either hunkered down in the deep snow, puffed out and unmoving, or hopping around pecking to find whatever they can not covered by the fall from last night. A netted bag of suet and nuts takes a while to get their attention. It is frozen and hard to eat. I should put on my boots and fill up the feeder. Grand tits, nuthatches, chaffinches and enormous jays are regular visitors. This morning, a solitary blackbird sits motionless inside the empty feeder, wondering why the filler-upper has been shirking her duties.

Inside the house, the packer-upper is hunkered down from the weather starting her third housebound day wondering why her "feeder" is so incredibly full and trying to get it ready to empty out.

My last grand opening

Tonight I sit in a billeting room on Chievres Air Base in Belgium. It is cold and foggy outside. Inside, my room is littered with papers, briefcases, and various digital gadgets from computers to card readers and cameras, all the necessary trappings of pulling together a commissary grand opening and being able to record it as I go. New to me this time is a Blackberry, a modern-day nag if ever there was one. Trying to be all things--phone, internet, camera, stereo--it has all sorts of challenges requiring me to figure it out as I go and frustrating me all the while. Of a greatly easier device is the new Kindle I received from Bill for Christmas. This device has nothing to do with the grand opening, it is just for feeding my ever-present appetite for reading. This device has turned out to be one of the easiest and must enjoyable electronic gadgets I've ever used. It is currently dishing up "The Measure of a Man" by Sidney Poitier, an actor I've always admired. For a book junky, this is like having a library on demand: buying a book can be done in less than a minute with the device not even plugged into the wall or a computer. No more having nothing to read on the road!

This trip is my last official grand opening. I have five weeks to go before I retire. Instead of going out in the evenings with the group, I stay in my room, isolating myself as a way of distancing from the emotions of saying goodbye to friends from Cairo, Egypt, and Livorno, Italy, here to work their usual magic on the new store. These talented and hard-working people have gained my respect. Knowing I may never see them again causes my insides to tighten and all my words to catch in my throat. I wish I could work beside them to design an endcap but can't find the time from my own job to do so.

My future keeps intruding on me this week. A problem with a new bank account in Virginia. A lost key to 931, our new house in Virginia. The longer I stay in Belgium, the more I can distance myself from the whole idea of leaving. These little surprizes jump into my email and remind me. Again my loyalties do the split, one foot on each continent, trying not to fall face first into the Sea of Separation.

The holiday is finished

(Photo of Bill and the little tree he decorated before I got home. We usually have a big tree with lots of European decorations on it.)





Thanks to Bill's efforts, Christmas did exist in my house this year, though in a much smaller and colder fashion than we normally have.

After arriving home from the airport on Christmas eve morning, I found only a trace of snow on the ground. Inside, my very smallest tree stood atop an end table with decorations and a few packages around it. The fridge had food for Christmas day. I went to bed for a few hours and got up to speak on the phone with a friend having a very sad Christmas because of a marriage gone nuts. As I spoke with her, I noticed the house getting colder and colder. Bill came up to me to inform me that the tank in the basement was totally empty! Christmas eve, 300 feet from my oil man's truck, and the tank is empty. Another fallout from my snow delay. Knowing it is probably hopeless, I call the cell phone and leave a message. We spend the evening feeding the fireplace and curling up under the covers. Fortunately, it is not below freezing outside.

At 1030 Christmas morning, my oil man Herr Wilhelm, calls to say "I come 5 minutes or never!"

Of course, we welcome him with open arms and profuse thanks and a few hours later the house is cozy again.

Christmas and New Year's were amazingly quiet this year. We were tired and just happy to read, eat and sleep. We stay up late and get up late. We wonder if this is what it will be like to be retired. We stay in our pajamas for two days and go nowhere. Bill had bought me Amazon's electronic book called Kindle and, though in love with real books, I take such a liking to it that I read one whole (free!) book on Christmas day. Bill has to travel to England for four days on business before New Year's and arrives home late and exhausted on the eve , another reminder of why we want to retire. Two airplanes, three cars, 1100 kilometers in four days takes a toll.

After New Year's, I marvel at the fact that I buy Andre Agassi's book "Open" through the computer and it drops magically into the Kindle in about 35 seconds from "one-click buy." As I take root on the couch again for hours and hours, I remind Bill that he is the one who bought it for me. He doesn't care. He is asleep in the recliner, recovering from his whirlwind tour of England.

Finally, on Saturday, we remove all signs of the little Christmas, pack it up and start working on my retirement papers. I've stalled on this long enough and dread the process immensely. I feel totally unprepared but grateful that Bill has gone through the process and mailed his forms a couple of weeks ago so he is coaching me through it all the way. When finished, I feel relieved but still wish I could just fast forward to the new house and be planted in one place, no longer in limbo.

I have not set foot in the office since arriving home except for a brief 30 minutes. More importantly, I haven't wanted to. Mentally, I have almost cut the cord completely, but remain still attached to it through obligation. I hope that once I've landed on the other side I will be able to move forward with some determination, no longer in limbo with one foot in each world. I have come full circle. Seventeen years ago, first arrived in Germany,I described myself in the same way and, as time went on, began to feel my worlds slidely slowly apart, pulling me away from the country I will now return to for good.