How many times have you started over?

Move 45

Colleen at dinner

What does it take for you to feel at home in a new place?

People move houses for a myriad of reasons…some are exciting and include hope for a better future, others are a reaction to a job change, marriage, divorce, illness, war, inheritance, threats, or it might be a simple matter of survival or the recognition it is time to see a different view from the windows.

My life includes 45 moves in my 75 years. Forty one of those moves were as an adult: that seems like a lot! Each time I wanted to be comfortable and feel at home, even for the short stays during my wandering, hippie years in college. As I write, I am thinking about what it takes for me to create a feeling of home.

Early on it was posters, records, books, macrame plant hangers, and a crocheted afghan crafted by my mother. Shared apartments had the benefit of a roomate’s stuff to fill up the space in addition to my bits.

The rooms and apartments shared during my first, disastrous marriage were as grim as the experience. After leaving for good, I moved looking only for a place where I could feel safe, which was more elusive than I wanted…eight moves in eighteen months waiting for an annulment to be finalized.

No wonder I gravitated to sharing an old bungalow with my sister in a neighborhood that looked and felt familiar in our hometown. She shared her things; her photos were of my memories, too; her friends became my friends; we shared music and smoked together; we worked in the same restaurant for a few months; we made pancakes often and a home together until I returned to university classes believing I could handle seeing ‘him’.

In my twenties, I moved with ease in a baby blue VW Bug named Gandalph with all my belongings tucked inside and skis on top. An invitation to visit Vail propelled me to a bright, new future. The reality of ski resort living demanded lodging flexibility but who cared in the excitement of the 70’s in Colorado. My record collection grew but, apartments were furnished, so moving was still a breeze.

I could not help but heal in the snowy world of bright blue skies, daily skiing, waitressing serving cocktails and fine food to happy tourists, golfing and tennis summers, live music, dancing and fun drugs to share. Spending time at home held little interest other than to shower and change clothes.

No wonder I fell in love! Marrying an older, sophisticated man upped the ante of my living environment and greatly increased my savvy about living well. He was a city boy with city tastes, and I learned loads about food, wine, art, dressing and cocaine from his habits. After we finalized our divorce, I began again as a newly single real estate agent at thirty. I survived the pitfalls of being single and thrived playing the same records that had sustained me in college. With a greatly expanded collection and a stunning wardrobe, I departed the Vail Valley after making eleven moves in twelve years. Fond memories of late night soirees, dancing clubs, dinners shared with friends went with me as I drove to Denver.

Living alone in a tidy duplex close to Washington Park was my first stop. Thanks to generous friends who lent me furniture, family gifts and the variety of second-hand stores on Broadway, I was able to outfit the blonde brick on Ellsworth and make it a home. The records came with me and filled my space with a wide array of music, from Beethoven symphonies to blues bands and rock songbirds. I started collecting original art from friends, artists anxious to see their work hanging somewhere other than in their studio.

My ten years as a single career woman included five more moves between Boulder and Denver, landing every time in vintage style apartments in an older, tree lined neighbourhood. A new tradition developed as my income increased and packing for a move became more complicated. While I travelled lightly for years, I had nested and started to accumulate things. Things that needed to be packed and protected in order to change house without disappointing mishaps during unpacking. My plan developed organically: collect boxes as needed, smoke a joint, turn on one of my favorite records, turn on the overhead lights that were never used except for this purpose, smoke and sing and pack away the things worthy to come with me to the new digs. This ritual was accomplished solo, as I was the only arbiter of the worthiness of the items to be packed,

It was music that I remember most from those days: Buffalo Springfield, Van Morrison, Little Feat, Joni Mitchell, the Stones, Fleetwood Mac, Canned Heat and Leonard Cohen if I felt sad to be moving. In addition to the records, I listened to tapes, FM radio and live music surrounding me…in Cheesman Park, Washington Park, 16th Street Mall, Red Rocks and the radio wherever I drove. Hours of west coast swing dancing joined rock music festivals, jazz clubs, and gallery openings. Dinner parties filled the hours along with building a coaching and consulting business, managing a microenterprise program in Five Points, and volunteering hours serving on boards of local nonprofits. Amid all the activity and movement, it was music that helped me stay grounded and fueled my desire to reach for success.

Falling in love was the catalyst for a return to the mountains, living amid pine trees again. When you choose to love the man; you love his family, as the saying goes. My third marriage, where I have continued to flourish for thirty-one years, started in Jefferson County in a lovely home with three teenage stepsons who saw little reason for my presence in the father’s life. Music became a salve for turbulent days.

Soon we were back in Denver, where we transitioned from a lower downtown loft, to a sweet ranch style brick close to the hospital where Steve received treatment after his heart surgery, to the Craftsman bungalow in Northwest Denver we called home for twenty years, when we became nomads and left the US.

Becoming divested of the house on Federal was both difficult and liberating. Before we could scoot off to Ecuador, we had to become free of the entire household, which was accomplished with the help of an agent in an Estate Sale. For anyone considering the same path in preparing for a move, I strongly recommend being dead before the sale commences. We were intently focused on our plans for the future, so the wrenching commotion became a sort of entertainment, a circus we watched descend in the back garden. People arrived to wrangle and barter what had made our house a home. As I recall, the soundtrack for the event was a nostalgic collection of Frank Sinatra, Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash.

I returned to the townhouse with our travelling companion, the now dearly missed German Shorthair Pointer, Cooper, to make final preparations. Steve returned to the San Diego boatyard where he was finalizing the renovations on a 45 ft longliner that was to be the start of our tuna fishing fleet. Serial entrepreneurs and itching for adventure, we both intended to start a thriving business in Ecuador, the tuna fishing capital of the world.

Being the first time I had moved out of the US, I packed too much, maybe because I used my old formula and was stoned when the seventeen suitcases were closed and Cooper and I zoomed off to Denver International Airport for our flight to Guayaquil, Ecuador.

No vinyl records, CD’s or tapes made the cut: I had discovered Spotify and Pandora and felt lucky to be carrying a huge musical library in my phone. Instead, I carefully packed textiles, a treasured collection that made me feel at home. With rugs, scarves, fabrics and handiwork from Guatemala, Afghanistan, Turkey, Vietnam, Mexico, Canada and various Native American tribes, I planned to deck out wherever we lived with color and artistry.

Ecuador was home for three years until Covid threatened our lifestyle there, followed by five years in Portugal on a small farm where we settled into life in southern Europe, and now, we have landed again in South America. We made the trip with ten bags this time and the first thing I did when we arrived at our new apartment was to open the textile suitcase and display them. Now, I can find my footing and make a home in the capital city of this new country.