It was 5 degrees outside when I got up this morning. The dogs didn't even want to go out and they have fur coats. This the the time of year (every year) I think I am ready to move. Ready to find somewhere just a bit warmer, where it doesn't snow and I don't have to spend half the year changing into a different pair of shoes when I get to work.

As the time nears for us to make a decision about staying, it is getting harder to imagine our family anywhere else. We really do love this little town. We feel safe here, our children enjoy being here, and even though I have been yearning for more opportunities for my own career, I will be sad if we have to leave. We've put down roots and they have become so far reaching, that ripping them up might ruin us for a time.

Have you ever wanted to take a place and transplant it? I felt that way about our first house in California. I still dream of that house. I think when I conjure up an image of home, that's the first thing to come to mind. I feel that way about Moscow, Idaho, where we have lived for the past 6 years. The town is pretty near perfect, and if I could take it and relocate it so it was near a larger city that offered more opportunities for Jon to share his art, and me to further my writing, I would. While I'm at it, I would take that first house from California and put that in the mix.

Since this is an impossibility, perhaps we will make the most of our current situation (make our own opportunities) or find a place to move that will attempt to live up to our high expectations. The perfect town with the perfect house? Does it exist?

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