It’s those changes in latitudes,
changes in attitudes nothing remains quite the same.
With all of our running and all of our cunning,
If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.

Jimmy Buffet, Changes In Latitude

Within the next few weeks, we shall pull up the New England roots long anchoring us to 41° 58′ 19″ N / 71° 24′ 22″ W and replanting them in 33° 36′ 14″ N / 111° 43′ 33″ W. I’d give you the names of the towns but where would the fun be in that?

I will give you one hint; the first location is not technically my home, but I have always considered it so and it is where my taproot has long been growing.

Life is a serious of comings and goings and this is just one more. For me, it likely will be one of the few remaining before the ultimate relocation. For my grandson, Levi, it is his first post-birth relocation adventure.

Why 33° 36′ 14″ N / 111° 43′ 33″ W you might ask? Three reasons, one personal, one practical, and one a bit of hedging my bets.

The personal reason is my daughter, son-in-law, and Levi have decided to move there and we, of course, choose to go with them. I have way too many things to do with Levi that cannot be accomplished long distance or by an occasional visit. There is a universe to explore right in the backyard of wherever he is and we want to be part of it.

The practical reason is much simpler, as you should be able to deduce from the difference in latitude at least, this is much closer to the equator and thus warmer. I can think of many things I will miss about New England; winter is not one of them.

As for hedging my bets, there is no such thing as certainty in this world. Or at least very little. On the off chance that my lack of faith in an afterlife comprising a heaven or hell is incorrect, and considering my track record here on earth, I think the often-scorching temperatures at our destination might be a perfect climate to acclimate me to my most likely eternal future address.

Along with the decision to move comes the practical aspect of actually getting there. To underscore my previous point about uncertainty trumping certainty, we thought our move to our current location would be our last one while still breathing. We were certain about it being the last move… the defense rests on that point.

So the culling begins. Once again, we comb through our stuff and decide what comes with us and what must be donated or tossed. Some choices are simple. While I will keep certain wintry weather items for travel, much of my winter material will adorn the self-identified homeless entrepreneurs adorning the intersections near my soon-to-be-ex-house this winter. If I have any boxes left I will cut them up for new signs, to replace their weather-worn signs thus reinforcing, “every little bit helps.”

During one of our nightly sorting efforts, we opened a chest containing photo albums. Since the advent of the digital age, very few people create these mementos, we had at least thirty. Some of the older color images were so faded as to appear black and white. There were also some ancient images in the original black and white bearing the distinctive date on the border. While we parted with many of them, I took a few to keep.

Two of the images relate to an earlier piece I wrote about a dog I had when I was four years old. (https://joebroadmeadowblog.com/2022/08/03/shattered-glass-shattered-memories/)

They immediately brought a tear to my eye, the shards of glass stabbing at my heart. But after thinking about it and mulling over the decision to dispose of most of the pictures, I realized the memories are always there and I don’t need proof to know I experienced all those moments captured in pictures.

Shep lives on in my memory as he always has. I lived those moments wherever I was then and will live new ones wherever I go, until… well, until I stop.

On to the next adventure. We have memories to create…