Moving (Literally) through the Stages of Ageing

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I’ve lived in some fabulous places in my 81 years. I grew up in Los Altos in a house built in 1950 in the burgeoning San Francisco Bay Area. We moved in before the landscaping was finished when I was 5. Our street was short with two courts, yet there were lots kids to play with. For a few years, there were orchards on either side of our street, but of course, that didn’t last. You can Google it. 283 Sunkist Lane, Los Altos, CA, listed by Redfin at almost $6M. Yes, that’s an M. Million. What kind of people live on that street now?

For a few years after college, I lived in Lexington, Kentucky, working for the Kentucky Geological Survey on the UK campus. I loved the many racehorse farms, the green, open fields and pastures, and the curvy, two-lane roads lined with stone fences and wild lilies. A gentle mist blanketed the grass in the morning.

After Kentucky, I got a job as a geologic draftsperson for the California Division of Mines, working in the Ferry Building in San Francisco. The old, iconic building was situated at the foot of the Oakland Bay Bridge. Directly across from the Embarcadero Square, it was a pretty cool place to work. I met my husband, a geologist, there.

We raised our two kids in Citrus Heights, just north of Sacramento, on a greenbelt with a creek. The house and property were nothing special, but the wildlife was rich. We had a cat and cat food on the porch, so it became a sanctuary for skunks, mallards, possums, wild turkeys, and raccoons. A variety of birds inhabited the greenbelt during summer, but in winter, the variety increased with migrants from the Sierras.

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After the kids were grown, gone, and married, Ted and I escaped the central California summer heat by moving to Paradise. No, not the town that burned, but a beautiful oasis called Whidbey Island in Puget Sound near Seattle. As you drive from north to south on Whidbey or back again, you can look one direction and see the Cascades. If you look the other direction, you can see the Olympics. There are 4 state parks on Whidbey, and you’re never far from the water. It was a glorious place to live.

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Nevertheless, the time came when I had been yelling at the image in my mirror for a decade, “Who are you and what have you done to Janet?” My knees hollered “WTH?” every time I went up or down stairs. A-fib, allergies, asthma, and age made walking the neighborhood hills more and more difficult. I did pretty well for 79 and 80 years old, but it was getting hard.

Travel to get to our kids was also a burden that triggered health crises, some of them annoying, some serious. I was becoming the grandma that my grandma was when she was old. I knew that someday I would need the help of our kids the way Ted and I helped both our mothers during their final years. Ted’s brother lived near their mother, so he did the heavy lifting with her.

We don’t need that level of help yet, but heaven is knocking at the door, whispering, “Are you packed and ready, just in case? You never know…”

One kid in Southern California, the other in New York with a wife who doesn’t like us very well. Her parents live about an hour away, so she was not going to budge from Albany. Our California d-i-l has anxiety and depression issues and would have a hard time dealing with us nearby. Her parents also live in their town, so they weren’t going to uproot anywhere soon, either. And, of course, California would be an economic dumpster fire.

I’m a rather decisive person. It was soon decided: New York, here we come. So, when? Maybe next summer, while we still have working neurons in our frontal lobes and at least a few muscles that haven’t turned to flab and fat?

I challenged Ted in July 2025, “Let’s do it now. We won’t get anything done to prepare for it without a deadline.” We had a Ford 150 that pulled a 24-foot trailer that we could live in. It was time to begin downsizing!

Well, OK, at least it was time to start packing. I packed boxes and boxes of books, photos, and albums. By the time the movers came in August, I was crabby and exhausted. I sat glumly in a chair while 6 young Russian immigrants threw books into boxes and packed away all our dishes. The dishes came through very well. Knick-knacks, not so much. The theological books, many of them very expensive and out of print, were a disaster. But we didn’t know that until we unpacked them.

We had our car ferried across the country while we pulled the trailer with our truck. After the movers drove away, we found an original painting that a great-aunt had given me years ago, face down on the ground by the trash can. A drawer full of pots and pans also got left behind by the movers, so we took those things in the trailer with us and danced around them all across the country.

We left Whidbey Island around September 1. The weather was cooling somewhat, which was a relief. On the way east, we visited a cousin in Montana and stayed at some nice trailer parks. By the time we got to Albany in upstate New York, the leaves were turning. Throughout September and October, living in that trailer, we watched the Northeast woods and hills turn to gold, red, and orange. It was amazing.

By October 15, it was jacket weather, the season was over, and all the trailer parks in New York, including the one we were staying at by the beautiful Mohawk River, closed. No problem. We found one in Vermont. We were now waiting for our newly purchased home in Clifton Park, NY to close. Our habitation in the trailer was extended because the house needed a new well and a new septic system in order to close. The movers wouldn’t start the trek from WA to NY until that final signature. Shortly before actual closing time, we moved to a local hotel.

Arrowhead Marina and Trailer Park on the Mohawk River, author image

During our exile from our new property, we had trailer repairs done in Connecticut. We bought apple cider donuts at a farm in Vermont. Sometimes we would drive back to Clifton Park to spend hours in the library around the corner from the house. It was quite an introduction to New York and the neighboring states.

I find myself very happy here. For one thing, our son and d-i-l decided to end their marriage, so he is living with us for several months until he can afford a place of his own in a nearby town. He’s a joy to have as a housemate. The timing of our arrival was perfect for all of us to support each other.

Our home here was built in 1958, but has been remodeled with a wall-sized window and sliding doors to the backyard. One recent day I looked out back, saw a cat-sized brown lump on the lawn, and screeched, “What is that?” Blow me down and fry my whiskers, it was a groundhog. I’d never seen one off the screen. There were also a bevy of adorable little eastern chipmunks, beautiful cardinals, and fat, gray squirrels.

A big selling point for us in this home was a porch that had been remodeled to be a laundry room. Most, if not all, the homes we looked at had laundry in the basement. Who ever thought that was a good idea? My grandmother’s home in Harrisburg had laundry in the basement. My son’s former house had laundry in the basement. A pox on every architect who built such a devilish home. Shame on you, sirs!

But I digress. I was describing what was surprising and pleasant about upstate. The woods! They’re everywhere. The rain in summer. I like rain. I like weather, and here you get all kinds of it. The wind blows, then stops. It rains, thunders, then the sun comes out. So far, up to August 3, it has rarely been over 80 and hasn’t been 100 yet.

I enjoy looking out the big windows to see the trees in motion. So many trees. Patches of woods everywhere you look. Every home is cosseted and surrounded by tall, old trees. It’s like a rain forest. Green stuff with big leaves, small flowers, and stringy vines grows beneath the leafy canopy. Charm is everywhere. I find it all very pleasing.

We also had practical things to consider. Shopping and restaurants and our church are only a mile away. General practitioners, cardiologists, ophthalmologists, allergy ENTs, and emergency care are nearby or near enough. Albany is getting a Costco this month, which means I don’t have to drive to Massachusetts to have my hearing aids adjusted.

Yes, the original factory parts are failing, but replacements are available if you have health insurance. Age with grace, I say. Being grumpy won’t make you younger, prettier, or healthier.

Downsizing? Oh, yes. These old houses weren’t made for a generation that owns the stuff we have. Boxes and boxes and boxes have gone to the Salvation Army, but we still have a basement and garage full of stuff. Our goal is to not leave a huge mess for our kids to clean up when we pass, but that in itself is almost a full-time job.

Moving here was a great decision, but it took a realistic view of our mortality. How many 90-year-old people can walk without assistance, let alone handle stairs? Stairs carrying a laundry basket full of clothes? My plan, God willing and the creek don’t rise, is to make it to 95. Compared to the eternity that awaits after that, 15 or so more years is a blink in time.

Time. We have time to be with family, time to make friends, time to deal with the things we own that our kids won’t want and won’t want to have to dispense with when we’re gone.

Time to work on our relationship with God, who watches over us, hears every prayer, and blesses our obedience.

We will all eventually say goodbye to friends, family, church, community, stuff, and that annoying image in the mirror.

This story can also be seen at https://theologylighthouse.substack.com/p/moving-literally-through-the-stages.