On September 25, 2002 — my daughter’s 25th birthday — I drove into Tucson. A vivid Southwestern salmony, purply sunset accompanied my arrival. It was gorgeous. It still is. I didn’t know what my life would be like, but I did it, drove myself and my belongings from Maine. Ready for a new life in the sunshine.

This Tuesday, July 20, I’m heading north to Minneapolis for my next chapter. Turning 75 on my beloved Mt. Desert Island in June did the trick. So much fun with family and old friends!

Leaving Southwest Harbor, with a view of a few MDI peaks

Maine will always be home. My grownup kids, their spouses, and I spent a week in a friend/former colleague’s perfect Southwest Harbor home. Whether it was the “perfect kitchen,” the proximity to town and the harbor, or my 4-year-old grandson’s and my early morning adventure walking to an island during low tide, we hope to rent it again next year.

Auntie B reads to Shay

I want to be near family. Participate in my adorable two grandchildren growing up years.

During a session with my wise, dear friend Kathleen in Bar Harbor, I had an epiphany: the isolation contributed as much to my leaving Maine in 2002 as the cold winters.

More than once, the fear of being caught in a snowstorm on Eagle Lake Road thwarted plans for a movie night at Reel Pizza across the island in Bar Harbor.

This is my time. I want to dance. Attend good theatre. Go to concerts. Dance more. travel. Walk, walk, walk around lakes. Decorate my own one-bedroom apartment, with its hardwood floors.

I’m proud of myself for diligently packing up my stuff in a week. I was so focused. I feel powerful. My goal is to apply similar concentration to my writing projects and freelance assignments.

Picturing myself sitting at a small desk, watching the snow fall outside my window. Sipping a cup of tea. Back to winter, where I started.

I’ll be happy to leave wacky Arizona politics behind. No more Ducey filtering dollars from the general fund to fill his rich friends’ pockets, instead of improving the state of education. Or the make-believe Democratic senator Kirsten Sinema pressing to the front row of any photo in one of her gaudy outfits. She almost makes me want to wear beige.

Crisp cool air. Colorful foliage. But most of all, my babies.

This is my time.