Lots of boxes still to be unpacked and stuff to be put on shelves and into closets, but Anne’s and my shift into Cooperstown is almost done. We’re securely replanted at 24 Delaware St.’ and already feeling at home.
What made us pull up stakes in Fly Creek was not the grand old post-and-beam house and its history, or the barn and outbuildings or the spread of woods and fields or the frontage on Oaks Creek. And it was certainly not that splendid, quirky little hamlet, so rich with people of warmth and wit, so seasoned with some splendid eccentrics and a bona fide wacko or two. What a great place to live.
Nope. What made us pull up stakes was Parkinsonism, pure and simple. I’m past the time when I could really maintain, much less enjoy, that blessed place, mine for 37 years, my home for 22, Anne’s and mine together for the last 15.
On Cooperstown’s Delaware Street, the new house has almost the same square footage as our Fly Creek home; but the downstairs floor plan and doorways are wide, a bathroom’s in place, and a side den can easily become a bedroom when steps are beyond me.
The big move was done by old friend Howard Reiss and his yeomen, notably Billy and Joe; and by a dozen friends who helped us out of Fly Creek and into Cooperstown.
Among those friends, Rich McCaffery stood especially tall. Despite his normal load of good works for others, he took on helping Anne stage both departure and arrival. (Blue and I, largely incapable of more than moral support, tactfully stayed out of their way. These days, when it comes to practical things these days, we’re both all paws.)
If you know Richard, you can imagine he found time for acerbic side comments to me. A sample: