It has been brought to my attention – no, not by you – that I’ve got a couple of unfinished stories hanging out there. Plus, with the March of Time, there are new stories piling up in the queue that I need to get to before my memory fades and my mind is forced to make up memories which would have the unfortunate side-effect of making The Blog more believable and, thereby, less accurate. Which is almost exactly, but not quite entirely, not my goal.
So, Saying Goodbye to the Forlorn Eagle Inappropriately Mounted on So Many Flagpoles.
In Part I, I took you across the Great Basin of the US from the sale of the house on Beautiful Bainbridge Island® to the crisp, clean air of the Colorado Rockies. Part II recounted my stumble as I trusted ChatGPT to help with the trip plan without realizing that being stuck in a data center outside of Boise would limit any intelligence’s ability to devise anything approaching a valid route from the PNW to the Florida Keys. A story ending at the exact spot I started from almost fifteen years ago. Where, as daylight waned, you would have found me sipping a cocktail as the ocean faded from view.
Very freaking poetic. But why?
I thought you’d never ask.
It seems I have a deep-seated psychological bias against consistency and repetition. While this has provided me with many great adventures resulting from my internal dialogue constantly reminding me that “we went that way last time”; it has also resulted in some near disasters because I forgot that there was a very good reason we didn’t go that way last time. That aversion to routine is coupled with an also-well-documented trait that everything happens to me at the last possible instant it could possibly happen.
Leaving the bird was based on a realization that, given the current state of political discourse, it was advisable to watch history unfold from a safer distance than six miles from the place where the US Pacific Fleet keeps its nukes. We chose Thailand, a location almost as far removed from the Nukes ‘R Us warehouse as possible without having to tread water, and a place where we have sunk some roots.
Now, the global politically aware among you, AKA: Non-Americans, might suggest that moving from a fledgling dictatorship to a military-supported monarchy where there have been twenty constitutions and thirty prime ministers in the last ninety-three years is, at best, an even trade. I would point out that that level of experience pays dividends. While Thai politics may seem chaotic from the outside, that political system keeps the chaos to itself. Social and economic life continues unaffected. For example, in 2014 the military got tired of all the squabbling and tossed the entire government into the Chao Phraya, driving the Prime Minister into exile, where she remains, and not a single drop of Tom Yum Goong was spilled in the process.
Our choice boiled down to risk it all to a bunch of amateurs in a clown car or go with experience.
I booked a flight. Hopeful that the house sale would proceed apace.
It didn’t.
So, I booked another and got the same result.
Jousting with the definition of insanity, I gave up.
I peered into my history and asked the question: “Okay, what’s the last possible instant?” Consulting with tea leaves, rolled bones, and an up-to-date calendar, I came up with the answer: August 2, 2025. Before that was too soon because house sale stuff – to make the August 2nd deadline the house would have to close before July 1, 2025 – and anything after would be impossible due to the cross-country trip that was the lead up to my departure.
I booked a flight for August 2nd.
And paid for it.
With money.
Given that you’re already halfway through the third installment about the cross-country trip you can guess what happened.
A house sale nominally takes thirty days to complete. By June 7th I was panicking that my money would be flying away on the plane without me.
On June 8th – “Ding. You’ve got mail” (not really but it adds to the drama…). “My clients want to buy your house. But…” Wait for it. “They need to close in three weeks.”
Done and dusted, the keys got handed over on June 30th and, on July 1st, I hit the road.
The. Last. Possible. Instant.
This led me to the previously regaled tale of my first few days on the road as well as a newfound confidence that maybe I can foresee the last possible instant better than I thought. The Universe, as usual, would not stand for hubris. It saw this as, what’s known in psychological circles, a teaching moment.
In my overconfidence I had planned to rest comfortably in The Florida Keys® until the last plane for Seattle left Miami leaving just enough time to sell my car on the way to the airport. Additionally, I needed to cut all ties to Washington state and reenter The Free State of Florida® as a gun-totin’, stand my ground, alligator ‘rasslin’, legal “resident” of the pendular projection.
“BLURP,” said the Universe and rolled snake-eyes on every one of my last-minute plans.
First to fall was the sale of the car plan. It turns out that, if you’re a Florida resident, any vehicle you want to sell should also be a Florida vehicle. My car was titled in Washington, so I had to remain a resident of Washington until it sold. Off to Miami I went, title in hand, and dropped the car at CarMax.
When the next come-out roll hit the felt.
Florida is a state where things are different. It requires a form called the Declaration of Domicile – where you declare your intention to live in the state and declare your prospective address. Florida is also home to a wide variety of public officials whose main goal in life is to make your day miserable. The Deputy Clerk of the Court, responsible for recording my declaration, looked at my paperwork, and looked at me.
“This isn’t notarized.”
“Nope.”
“Okay, let’s see some ID.”
*Click*
“This is from Washington.” Those with an interest in legal matters will realize that this doesn’t matter.
“Go get a Florida driver’s license.”
My paperwork was tossed back across the counter, and I collected the sheets off the moldy floor.
Having dealt with officiousdom in its many guises, I knew it was pointless to mention that nowhere in the form or its compendious instructions is prior notarization required or even mentioned.
I was now in a Catch-22. I couldn’t get the Declaration notarized without a Florida license and – pause for effect – I couldn’t get the license without proving that I lived there. But the deputy clerk did show me the door out of my dilemma. Her first statement implied that if my document had been notarized it would have been no problem. I did a search on local notaries and came up with “The Monroe County Clerk of the Court” – strike one – and “The UPS Store”. I hurried to the UPS Store and put my declaration and Washington license on the desk. She handed me a pen and watched me sign.
Stamp. Stamp. “That’ll be five bucks.”
I knew my luck had changed. The same service cost twenty in my previous hometown.
From there I took my notarized form to the Motor Vehicle Office – whose employees could give a flying rat’s patootie about paperwork, or whether you’re going to fly into the twin towers – and got my driver’s license in about four minutes.
Rushing to the rear of the same building I flung open the door to the Clerk’s dingy office where my friend from earlier was waiting to pounce.
“I got it notarized.”
“Big deal.” I caught the evil glint in her eye. “Let’s see some ID.”
My still warm license hit the counter like an ace dropping into a backdoor straight.
“Here you go.” Blink. Blink.
Finally a legal resident of the former Sunshine State®, I returned to the deck, swizzled my cocktail and watched the sea swallow the sun.
I slept like a baby.
“Ding. You’ve got mail”
“Your flight’s been cancelled but we’ve booked you onto a new flight that will get you to Seattle on August 2nd.”
The flight was scheduled to arrive about ten hours after my money departed for Thailand.
“That won’t work. What are my other options?”
“There are none.”
“Okay. Give me my money back.”
“We’ll think about it.”
Needless to say, the denouement was somewhat anti-climactic. I was able to book my return to Seattle on another airline, for free. And, on August 2nd, my business in Seattle finished, I boarded my flight to Thailand and, at 2:10AM, left the ground and left behind, once again at the last possible instant, my previous life – its adventures, disappointments, and lessons learned – for something new.
