One dollar. Every three years. For the past 25 years. I’ve been paid one dollar, every three years for the past 25 years to move house. I’ve packed my pets and belongings and moved house. To a new house. Different part of the city, same state. Different neighbourhood.

It didn’t take me long this time (this last time I swear but then I swear the first of every three years) to settle in: unpacked and boxes recycled; pets comfy; pictures on the walls; lawn mowed; flower beds weeded and new plants safely in the ground; new-to-me-neighbours met; bread baked and given away; books read and then exchanged. Like I said, this time (this last time I swear) it didn’t take long to settle in.

One dollar. Every. Three. Years. Twenty-five years. A long time.

Who does that? Have done, and just did. I suppose the bigger question would be not who does that?…but why do that? My Reader says it’s for the money, and I’m saying it is definitely not for the money.

If one (too obviously me) is taking in the long and the short, the scheme of things and looking at the whole picture which I have had twenty-five years of experience experiencing…it is definitely not for the money.

And so? The answer not to the who but to the why?

It matters not. Not in the long or the short.

I’ve mostly seen the whole bigger picture from all sides, top to bottom, and there is no scheme other than finding…home.

Pen my name and address in ink.

You can also put that dollar back in your pocket.