Three years ago this last weekend, we finished packing the U-haul and headed for Canada.

Three years.

People thought we were crazy, but most of them were polite enough not to say so. After all, I was leaving my country of birth to be an email-order bride to a Canadian fellow I’d known for barely six months and whose first wife hadn’t been dead for even a year yet.

I was barely widowed myself. Just shy of a year and a half since the passing of my late husband.

I quit my teaching job of twenty years just when I was beginning to make what most people would call “good money”, sold my house, pretty much gave away all my possessions – just an aside, people were actually begging me to take money from them for things but it didn’t feel right. The payment I did agree to was minimal and even that felt “off”.

I’ve never claimed that it was easy-peasy. Relocating. Remarrying. Starting life over from scratch in many respects. Though I didn’t share the bumps. Potholes and such are private and there are limits to what even I will share online. But I’ve never regretted, barely questioned and have been amply rewarded for my efforts.

Rob’s efforts too.

We drove forever to get here. Dee and I were not seasoned Canadian road warriors then and it was painful.

And I wouldn’t say that we are completely moved in yet. It’s not easy combining lives and four people’s stuff plus three children’s is a lot for an 1100-ish square foot house. The ghosts alone take up most of the upstairs and large chunks of the basement.

Not kidding about the ghosts. *

And we are not rooted yet. Oh, the family part has dug in tendrils that expand continually but the physical adjustments continue. Twice we’ve come close to relocating outside Canada and Texas still looms, casting its shadow periodically over the future.

But three years ago, people were betting against us and we were just stubborn enough and sure enough of ourselves to ignore them. Good on us.

*The lights on the night-stands are up to their old tricks again. Lights usually mean illness or a death is in the offing. I find my light on as I rushed about getting ready to camp this last weekend. Fully expected to come home to a message that someone had died. Thankfully, no. But I really wish our dearly departed were not so intent on this early warning system they’ve come up with.