My mother moved.  San Francisco, Chicago, Indianapolis, Salt Lake City, Bulington, Madison, Verona.  Possessed of an impervious faith that relocating her art supplies and rickety wicker dresser to an unfamiliar apartment would improve her life, she seemed equally impervious to the fresh difficulties each move created for her – social isolation, penurious financial limitations, strains on her failing health.  Who wouldn’t watch this cycle repeat and try to learn the lesson?  Happiness is where you ARE, Dorothy.

But now it’s my turn.  I want something DIFFERENT.  And changing – though hard – feels very, very good.  It feels like life happening, and I am playing my part.

This is what she wanted.  I see it much more clearly now.  And we are moving on.