I've said it a dozen or more times now when trying to reassure friends that we're not crazy.
"You don't know if you can fly until you've thrown yourself off a cliff."
We're moving to St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands because, as much as we like Oregon, we're tired of being cold and wet nine months out of the year. We're throwing ourselves off a cliff, confident enough in ourselves that we'll be able to get jobs and survive in a new place with new customs and challenges and opportunities.
"We" are - John "Ol' Chumbucket Baur, Tori "Mad Sally" Baur, our daughters Alex, Kate and Millie, our son Max, Tori's mother Janet, and our cat, Roger Cow (the kids named him.)
This all began on Feb. 27, 2007, about 9 a.m. when Tori looked out the window at the frozen rain coming down in a 50 mile an hour wind and said, "Why do we live here?" Immediately the plan was hatched to move to the tropics, and St. Croix was selected. We've been studying and working and preparing for this ever since. Now, in about 13 hours, I'll be boarding a plane with our daughters and a very pissed off Roger and heading off on this new adventure, arriving mid-afternoon on our new island home. Tori follows the next day with Max and Janet. We're doing it in two shifts because we just couldn't even comprehend the notion of trying to herd all the luggage in one trip.
The last few weeks of mad final preparations - finishing selling the house, moving out of it, packing, making arrangements - have been a blur. I've had so many people say we should get together before we go, and I've wanted to, but there just hasn't been any time. Any time at all. So the only option is for them to come visit us on the island.