A Minimalist Move in Troubling Times

When I moved into my small house in Florida, I thought it could be my forever home. The house was easy to maintain, the yard had great gardening potential, and the neighborhood was walking distance from grocery stores, restaurants, medical providers, and parks. But the pull of family was stronger.

About a year ago, I decided that I wanted to live closer to family. I didn’t have an epiphany or a life crisis. It was a decision made gradually over a period of months. Then one day I just knew. After five years in Florida, it was time to move back to Texas. My son still lived in Austin, and my daughter, who was finishing up her studies, would also benefit as not only her brother but her father lived there. I also have friends and a brother and his family in the area. A house in the Austin area would cost more, but the value of relationships overruled that.

I had it all planned out. I began packing over the holidays, decluttering as I went. I sold the furniture I didn’t love or wouldn’t need for staging. By the end of January, at least 80% of household goods were in boxes, neatly stacked in the garage. I would sell the house in March and move to Texas in April. My son and possibly my brother could come to help me with the cross-country move. Easy peasy.

So much for best laid plans. A week after my house was listed, the coronavirus exploded into the headlines. Sure, it had been in the news before then, but it had attracted little attention and was not (yet) labelled a major threat. My county went into quarantine. My son was furloughed and then laid off from his restaurant job in Austin. He, along with millions of others, filed for unemployment. My small “starter” house, which had attracted multiple offers three years ago, received little attention, and I took it temporarily off the market.

Originally, I had told my realtor that I had no exact deadline as I worked remotely no matter where I lived. The house would eventually sell, and I was in no great rush. Fast forward to July. Due to a collapsing economy, my daughter and son would be moving in with me for an indefinite period of time. I had to drive to Texas, find an apartment to rent, and get ready for my chicks to return to the nest at the end of the month when their leases were up.

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Driving away from my unsold home was tough. I forced myself to think positive, that it would all work out in the end. I moved my household using U-Haul Box Containers, ordering three but in the end, needing only two. While they slowly made their way to Texas, I drove a car packed with work equipment, clothes, and cleaning supplies. Each hotel I stayed at had protocols in place for keeping the rooms as clean and germ-free as possible, but I still cleaned them with my own supplies. I wasn’t taking any chances with the spike of coronavirus cases in the southern states.

Once in Austin, I stayed in a residence hotel room with a kitchenette. The move wasn’t cheap, so I didn’t plan to eat out much. I spent my days searching, then applying for a three-bedroom apartment. Each of us would need to set up a work or study station in our rooms, so I couldn’t go smaller.

Now, I haven’t rented in over two decades, but a lot has changed since then, and not for the better. The application was a huge pain, partly because my kids had to apply separately as well. I protested. But they’re my children! I’m the one with the job and paying the rent! No matter. They were legal adults, and we all had to apply. My daughter also paid a large non-refundable fee to include her cat, and she pays an extra $15 a month for his rent. Does this all sound just a little absurd?

So here we are—a mom and her 20-something kids living together again. I have to say, though, that this has been the silver lining to the pandemic. While I generally feel content as an empty nester, I’m very happy to have my kids with me now, even if temporarily. My solo quarantine in Florida was hard. From my patio, I would often hear neighbors chatting, even bickering at times, with family members. I had no one. Even my beloved cat Zac had passed away in the fall. Sure, I called family and friends, but it’s not the same as getting together in person. I found myself dreading the weekends, my usual time for getting out of the house and meeting up with friends.

Now I’m living with my son, daughter, and even a grandkitty, Finnegan aka Mr. Finn or simply Finn, who we all spoil. He is curious, funny, and, as the vet told my daughter, “a tad portly.” As are we all, eating our way through pandemic stress. Thanks to my diligent realtor and dear friend Jean White, my house in Florida finally sold, so now I’m in the process of looking for a new home. It’s been an interesting, sometimes challenging, experience for us all to live together again, but for the most part, it’s going quite well. The times are indeed troubling, but we’re making the best of it.