The morning of my departure was foggy…and I was very groggy.

I was up until the wee hours of the morning packing my trailer and the rear of my pick-up truck. Every heavy load required me to climb up and down a flight of stairs. 1o steps X 50 or more loads and 2 trips each. You should have a good sense of my agony.

I was very sad as I was leaving my home, especially with it being so empty. It was a good house and once my dream home. Now it was cold and bare. I tried to recall only the good times, but a few of the bad ones eked in, too.

As I slowly drove down my driveway for the last time I passed the tree I planted on my wedding day. I specifically ordered a blue spruce but was deceived and given a white spruce instead. Its base was also crooked, its roots not very deep, and it needed a lot of watering for it to survive the first year. I almost shed a tear. It was the perfect metaphor for my failed marriage.

My 1200 mile drive was, in a word, murder. I battled dense fog, freezing rain, and a very angry cat who simply did not want to leave Wisconsin. Steve (the cat) made his opinion very clear.

I plodded along until the wee hours of the morning when I no longer had the desire to plow through the fog anymore. Steve, he was on the verge of laryngitis from crying non-stop from Madison to Bismark. The stop, I thought, would do us both some good.

The next hotel on I-94 was a Motel 6. It was not a Waldorf Astoria by any means, but as Tom Bodett would say, “All hotels look the same when your eyes are closed.”

Steve scoured the room for an hour. After exorcising the room of its demons, he communicated that it met his approval. He flopped on the bed, meowed as he looked at me, and flapped his tail hard against the equally hard bedspread. It was the last noise I heard the rest of the night. We both passed out in minutes.

I only slept for five hours, but it was a deep sleep. I brushed my teeth, skipped the shower, and rushed out the door with Steve in tow.

It was raining and I was still too tired to think about the possibility the rain might be freezing. As I climbed one of the many anonymous hills between Bismark and the Montana border I suddenly felt the rear of my truck slide and the trailer wagging back-and-forth like a dog’s tail. It scared the hell out of me, and even Steve knew something was wrong.

I let off of the gas and my ship righted itself, but I was losing speed and traction fast. I was certain I would either spin out in the middle of the interstate or slip backwards out of control when I ran out of momentum and traction. Somehow I managed to move over to the rumble strip on the side of the road and get to the top of the hill…barely.

I limped along the interstate the rest of the way to Montana at only 40 miles per hour. I was growing frustrated by my lack of progress, but I knew getting to Havre late was better than not making it all.

I fought back the desire to close my eyes while I drove, but Steve seemed none the worse for wear. He slept quietly beside me. I was jealous he could sleep but sincerely happy he was so quiet on this the second leg of our trip. He was either resigned to his fate or far too tired to complain.

The weather in Montana was better, though still dreary. I no longer had to contend with freezing rain or fog so the rest of the trip flew by much faster.

We arrived in Havre shortly after one o’clock and I pulled up to our new home–heretoafter referred to as Tranquility Base. I took Steve inside so we could both see the new home for the first time. Once again he spent a great deal of time exploring every square inch of the place before he seemed pleased.

I moved half of our belongings into our abode before I called it quits for the evening. It had been a long time since being so tired.

But I delivered Steve and myself to Havre…in one piece. And I am glad.