Hello, from the basement.  This series of stories will be all about my new life at Casablanca. It is, as the word implies, a White House. It is not in a foreign Spanish speaking country. It is only 20 minutes south of where I lived before in Hayward, Wisconsin. It was named by the man I married before I met him. It is down a long driveway in a forty acre forest, between two somewhat large lakes. It has the front porch I have always wanted. It has lots of stairs: 10 up to the front door, 8 up to the side door, 16 down to the basement, and 16 up to the loft. 

I’m moving slowly these days when I traverse stairs – something is not quite right in one of my knees. Going down to the basement, I have plenty of time to notice the temperature change. By the time I get to the bottom step, it has gone from 75 degrees to 65. If the AC is on, it’s even colder. This is only one of the things I like about the basement. Kevin calls it “Shirley’s apartment”, because that is where most of my stuff has landed. I am officially moved from my condo to Kevin’s house. He insists I call it “our house” now but I am still getting used to that. We are ten weeks into our marriage, and it is still amazing to me that this has happened.

There have been several times when I knew where my computer was, and I could have written something. Instead I have been merciful and did the more urgent tasks. Maybe someday I will wish that I had recorded more about our wedding, or our honeymoon in the Boundary Water’s cabin. Maybe I will want to remember the move and the many trips with a full carload of possessions and the many items sold on Facebook Marketplace. I won’t forget the feeling as I looked at last at the empty condo on Par Lane and left the keys on the counter.  Maybe I will wish I had written more about MY BOOK FINALLY GETTING PUBLISHED! But I have decided to live without regrets. I can still write what I remember about all those things, and I think I will. 

Today I sat in church with Kevin. I have promised not to call him “the husband” when I write about us. After getting home we went on a hike on the Portage Trail. It is a short loop down to the Namekagon River, for the purpose of testing out my problem knee. The woods are still green and beautiful and I avoided tripping on many (not all) of the roots and rocks in our way. You see, hiking is the way that Kevin and I got to know important things about each other. It is special to us, and I have missed it for the many weeks while I was moving. I am 75 years old and every step I get to take is precious. 

After a short hike through the woods we came to an arrow pointing to a trail going back in the direction we had come. We obediently followed it and arrived back at our vehicle. But we had come on a portage trail with the idea that water would be found at least at one end. So we went down the trail again and disobeyed a sign that said “don’t come this way”, more or less. This path was less traveled, for sure. It had a wooden walkway that had not been maintained over a wetland area. Even though the walkway was overgrown with vegetation, it seemed solid enough and we were able to follow it down to the river.  It was a nice view and made the trip worth the risk. I may explore the ethics behind disobeying signs in the wilderness, later. 

My knee is a little sore today, but it’s a holiday. I can rest. I’m glad we got back to hiking. I’m glad to be writing again. I remember things better when I have written about them.