The Final San Diego Crunch

Hello! Long time, no post. December got a little busy, and I’ve been traveling for a bit, so if you’re reading this now, thanks for hanging in with me!

I recently went to a writing workshop. I learned so much and definitely not all about writing. It was an interesting, emotional, fascinating, strange, maddening, good, bad, painful, irritating, and mind-bending experience.  It really spun my head around. I left there thinking that I needed to trash this silly blog, never write another word and make a full-time commitment to my Netflix account. But then I thought – fuck that! This blog is for me and anyone who is along on this ride, and as always, I’m so grateful for you! I will definitively share my experience about that workshop soon. I’m still processing. Stay tuned.

For now, I’ll continue with the story of the journey.

January tenth marked the third anniversary of our arrival to France. So much has changed in these last 3 years. I have changed, the world has changed. Yet I still wake up most mornings thinking “how did I get here?” Whose life is this? Crazy. It has indeed been a journey – mentally, emotionally, spiritually and geographically. I’m hoping that as I continue to share this story, I will relive and process the memories, and be able to more fully embrace my life as it is now. Sometimes it’s difficult bringing the memories and feelings back to the forefront, especially the last few stressful and frantic months before we left San Diego.

In August 2019, we returned from our family trip to Kauai knowing that crunch time was truly upon us. it We had mountains of tasks to conquer and only 16 weeks to get it all done. It felt like a puzzle that was in a constant swirling motion where each piece had to fall perfectly into place at exactly the right time before moving to the next step. I was acutely aware of the rapidly passing time and anticipating of all the goodbyes to come left me with a constant underlying tremor of anxiety. I felt an urgency to make plans with family and friends to spend as much meaningful time with them as possible.

One of our biggest tasks was to figure out how to rent our condo.  I had never had a rental property and this seemed particularly daunting to me.  We loved our home.  We put so much time, effort, love and lots of money into creating a home we were so proud of.  It was our oasis and a dream come true to live  in the La Playa neighborhood of Point Loma.  My heart lifted every time I rounded the bend on Rosecrans toward the end of the peninsula, knowing how fortunate I was to live at Kellogg Beach. Before moving there, we would walk the path along the bay from Shelter Island to Kellogg’s and joke about living in one of the multi-million dollar homes that overlooked San Diego Bay. But, through a series of unexpected and fortuitous events in 2012, we were pretty much able to steal our own little place in La Playa by way of a condo, built in the early 80’s and badly in need of remodeling.

After a promising tenant situation fell through, I had a bit of an epiphany. Let’s just sell the house! Didn’t we want to take a big leap? Making the clean break would free ourselves of our responsibilities in San Diego.

We always had a hard and fast rule – do NOT sell Southern California property because you can NEVER get back.  BUT, at that time, we were thinking that we were at the height of the market and due for a dip (our realtor agreed – I’m not a complete bozo). I knew we could sell our place for a tidy sum, and since we bought it so cheap eight years before, we could make a nice little profit. Then if we did decide to go back, we could take that profit and be able to buy back into the San Diego market.  This could give us the freedom we were looking for while still making good financial sense. Pretty good plan, right? We certainly thought so at the time…..oy vey.

This decision surprised our family and friends, but as with the rest of my intricate plans, with single minded determination, we went for it – full steam ahead.   Skip and I both felt good about our decision (although he does frequently remind me that this was my bright idea – so sweet, right?) By October of that year, the condo went on the market, we got a quick offer and closed escrow at the beginning of December.

Do we have any regrets? Hell yes we do. We broke our own rule and we all know what happened in the real estate market shortly after that. But what can you do? The clock can’t be turned back. It was the right choice for us at that time, but again I say, oy vey…..

During this time we were packing, packing, packing, trying to decide what to sell, what to give away, what to store. We knew our modern decor would likely not work in France. We thought that if we did buy a house in France, it would be an old house and our modern esthetic wouldn’t work. We intended to travel light. We wanted to simplify our lives. I had no intention of shipping our whole household overseas and we didn’t want to hang on to everything either. We would store a few things and get rid of everything else. It was months of sorting, trashing, and donating. As time got closer, we started selling things. I was real good at selling stuff, but I’m terrible at negotiating. I didn’t want to overcharge, I wanted to be nice! If someone offered less than asking, I crumbled so easily! I should have left left that business to Skip. I was happy seeing my things go to a good home – as if they were puppies and kittens. A saleswoman I am not! One thing that still torments me is my Crate and Barrel dresser. God, I loved that thing. It was of mid-century design, the wood so warm and smooth. It sat directly across from my bed and I always marveled at how perfectly the grain matched and flowed like waves across the drawer fronts. I sold it along with its matching chest, my patio set and a custom altered buffet made into an entertainment cabinet by our friend and contractor. I sold them all for a song…..time was running short and everything had to go! I did sell my stand up paddle board to a cool nurse friend who is active in animal rescue – so it did go to a good home like a puppy! I gave so many things away to our kids and to our friends. If you came to our house over those last few weeks, it was mandatory that you left with something…..wine glasses, an office chair, an ice chest, tools, a Christmas tree. No one was safe from our “gifts”. I gave mounds of sheets, towels, blankets to a Mexican dog rescue, the Salvation Army knew my husband by name. Trisha, our daughter and militant packing supervisor had no problem telling me what to get rid of….she was brutal!

During this time, we were still busy working at our jobs, working on our long term visas, working on all of veterinary and governmental requirements for Parker to travel to a foreign country. I had different check lists taped on my glass closet door – lists for Parker, visas, cross-country trip, medical, financial, house. Color coded post-it notes stuck all over with tasks that needed to be done and in the order in which they needed to be carried out. I really don’t know how I pulled it all off while maintaining my sanity…..but did I? Debatable, to be sure.

As I mentioned a while back, we couldn’t even apply for our visas until 90 days before our expected arrival to France. That meant we had to wait until October 10th of that year before we could even submit our applications. Our house was already on the market, our ship fares were now non-refundable, the veterinary requirements for Parker were already in progress. Everything was in motion and we still had no idea if our visas would be approved. We didn’t get them until the end of October. I was so stressed out!

Parker’s travel requirements were even more complicated than ours. Because we’d be traveling on the Queen Mary, he had to be compliant with UK animal laws and they were very strict and specific. Adding to this, Brexit was looming and depending on which outcome came to pass, the requrements could change. As with everything else I did, I spent a great deal of time researching all possible angles and had extra blood tests done to ensure he’d be allowed to travel into England. If there were any discrepancies, he’d either not be allowed to board or worse, be put into extended quarantine when we arrived in England. This was terrifying to even ponder…..to sell our house, get our visas, travel all that way and not be able to get on the ship? What would we do then?

Parker’s process actually began in September. It was so confusing and complicated. His part was so complex and there was some unexpected excitement along the way. I will devote a blog post just for his journey to France. Stay tuned for that part too.

My last day of work was December 2. I loved my job. After many years in labor and delivery and the operating room, I found my perfect job in the triage unit of my hospital about 5 years before I left. It was a special unit with some very skilled and talented nurses. I was proud to be working on that unit and I appreciated it every minute that I was there. I knew that I would never be able to have this same job again if I went back to San Diego. My particular schedule and situation were no longer going to be offered, so I knew what I was giving up. I realized sometime during those last 5 or so years that I didn’t dread going to work like I had in previous years, in other departments and other hospitals. It wasn’t that every shift was joyful….oh definitely not, sometimes it was pure hell, disgusting and terrifying, but I never dreaded going in and that was a rare and true gift in nursing.

That last morning was rough. I had done a fine job keeping it together all night, but I knew I was on a razor’s edge of losing all composure. As the shift was ending, I was stuck on the phone with one of my least favorite doctors, listening to her drone on in her typical condescending tone, and I was thinking this was not the way I wanted my last shift to end! I just wanted to sneak out without any fuss. I worked my last night with my soul sister Susie and when morning came, I wanted her just to get in her car and go away! Yet, she insisted on following me around as I said my final goodbyes, turned in my security badge and clocked out for the last time. I was trying so hard not to howl like a crazed baby wolf – and she just wouldn’t leave me alone! Pain in my arse! Good thing I love her so much.

Already so many goodbyes and now I was leaving my beloved nurse family, my hospital and my career too. Being a nurse meant so much to me. I had – and still have – such reverence for my profession. It was profound honor to care for so many people over the years, to use my brain and skills in a meaningful way, to have the trust of my patients when they were scared and vulnerable, to teach, to treat, to heal and on many occasions to save a life. Part of me really thought I’d work again at some point. And while I know how fortunate I am to be in a position where I don’t have to work, I feel that I lost a big part of myself when I left. I didn’t realize how much until more and more time passed.

We left just a week after my last day at work. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fully explain the pure insanity of those last 7 days. Not only were we packing and organizing our whole house, we also had to organize and pack for our cross country trip, the Queen Mary crossing and all of the essentials we would need when we got to France. We had to figure out what we were going to have shipped over later – just a few boxes – the things we would need for the first weeks and months. We also had to plan how we were going fit everything into Greta, my trusty little BMW.

Every day of that last week was a constant parade of people coming to the house, to visit, to say goodbye, to pick up more of our stuff. We were cleaning, packing, running last minute errands and trying to remember to eat and sleep when we could. Skip made so many trips to Salvation Army that he had to slip the guy some cash to get him to continue taking our stuff. What we couldn’t donate, sell or pawn off on our poor friends and family was going to be picked up by the Fred the Junk Man. We had to decide what was going into storage and what was being moved to our Haley’s apartment.

On the last Saturday, just 2 days before we left, our family had a going away party for us. I beyond exhausted and so emotionally strung out at that point. We had already had so many goodbyes and this would be the last time we’d be together with our family. Cindy, Skip’s ex and dear friend, made us a family photo video set to French music that nearly did me in. As we were leaving, I hugged everyone goodbye while trying to hold back my tears – and not very successfully. When I hugged Cindy, I said “I love you”….in my wrung out emotional state it just slipped out! Funny thing to say to an ex-wife, but I meant it and she said it back to me too. I still remember the surprised look on her face. I think we both surprised ourselves! I’m really not sure how I survived that night.

Sunday, the movers came. We had an elaborate plan in which the movers would load the the truck with boxes going to storage first and the furniture going to Haley’s apartment last. They would unload at Haley’s and we would follow them over to oversee the unloading and then go to the storage facility to unload the rest. We were so pleased at how quickly and smoothly the move went until we realized that we completely forgot the giant mountain of boxes in our underground garage! We were so lucky that this was our third move with this family owned company and the guys were so understanding. It was a whole other trip back home and back to the storage facility, as if we didn’t have enough to do already!

That night we slept in our nearly empty house – in our guest room on the one remaining bed with old sheets and blankets. On that last day, the bed went to Fred the Junk Man and the sheets and blankets were washed and brought to the Mexican dog rescue. I started at the bottom of the house and worked my way up, throwing away anything that was left and cleaning as I went. My dear friends Susie and Tina came by, bringing snacks and encouragement. I had one step stool to offer for seating and I made them take even more of my last minute things – one last pair of scrub pants, a big bag of Epsom salts….no empty hands were allowed to leave our place! Once they left, after big hugs and many more tears, we had only 2 hours left before the new owners were coming for the final inspection. Our realtor would be there for that and we wanted to be long gone by then. I took my last shower, cleaning as I went, threw away the dirty clothes I was wearing. Skip and Haley were making trip after trip to our garage with everything that was going with us so we could load the car. I was on my hands and knees wiping the floors all the way to the front door until I closed it behind me for the last time. It was 3:55 and the final inspection was at 4:00.

We met down in the garage with the last pile of stuff that I was making Haley take and all of our worldly possessions that were going to be shoved into little Greta. We each had a suitcase for our clothes for the road, one big suitcase for our Queen Mary crossing, a small duffle bag for Parker’s stuff, a small suitcase for our important papers and documents, a small roller bag with some books and some framed photos, a small cooler with Parker’s food, a compact dog bed, a set of Skip’s Mom’s silverware and carving knives, and an antique Mahjong set. ALL of this along with us 2 grown humans and a 42 pound dog went into my little car.

By this time, my poor dog was zonked out on doggy tranquilizers – it was a rough week for him too. I hugged our “baby” Haley one last time in the garage, and in tears – once again, we piled in to the car.

For some reason, and I can’t remember why, I was driving. Parker was crammed in the back seat with just enough room to curl up and lie down and Skip was in the passenger seat, pinned down by our big heavy Jura coffee maker on his lap which was going to our daughter-in-law and another box of kitchen items that was going to our French teacher on the way out of town.

I drove slowly out of our sweet little La Playa neighborhood. I remember trying to take in every last detail, imprinting them on my mind and my heart.

We made our way down Rosecrans, all 15 traffic lights, until we got to the freeway. Heading north, the traffic was at a standstill, but I don’t think I noticed for 10 minutes or more. I was numb, I was exhausted, I was depleted. It was the first time I had sat still in so, so long.

We stopped at our French teacher, Melissa’s house to drop off that last box. Melissa had made a special French banana tarte for us. She insisted we stay while she so kindly served us and we visited with her family – who we dearly love, but I don’t know how we weren’t falling out of our chairs by then.

We were out of our minds, my dog was stoned and we crammed ourselves back into the car and headed up to Temecula. We one last, hopefully restful night before we finally headed out of town. We stayed with our daughter-in-law, Amy and our grandsons (our son Trent was out of town on business). Our sweet Amy had hot chicken soup and wine waiting for us and a freshly made bed for our weary bodies. We spent a quiet evening resting on their big comfy couch – all of us – with our grandsons and the dogs too. I think my heart broke into a million more pieces that night – sitting there with those precious boys, finally able to stop and rest. The full realization of what we were about to do really hit us…..hard. We were leaving our home and loved ones. After a year and a half of planning and hard work, the time had finally come. We were bone tired, we were excited, and we were scared.

Much love to you. I’ll write more soon.

❤️ Lisa