Since I’m currently between trips, I guess I’m only traveling today in my mind.  It’s a another day of retirement reflection.  It would be like any other day, but on my run this morning I saw a construction crew getting their pay checks, so to them it’s Pay Day.  Others in the working world would also know it as Friday, since good things usually happen on Friday to kick off the weekend.

I’m putting a suit on tonight for the first time in six months.  We’re attending a Rose Festival VIP event, with one of my favorite Portland musicians, Pete Krebs, providing the live music. We’ll probably end up buying another trip package in one of the fundraising auctions to support the Festival.  I’m still fighting a nasty cold, so I hope I feel up to the festivities.

We’ve lived in Portland for almost three years now; Austin, Texas for the five years prior; Decatur, Illinois for three years before Austin; and Indianapolis where we started our marriage.  Each of these cities have great memories, and we’ll continue to make more in Portland.

While in Decatur, I was technically my wife’s boss, as if that could possibly be true.  I ran the television station that covered Springfield, Decatur, and Champaign, Illinois.  We worked together to expand the regional presence and revenue of the station, and made it viable to sell.  Once the new company took over, we moved to Texas for new opportunities.  It happened abruptly, so I wrote an article to the local publication, Decatur Monthly.  Here’s what I wrote about my experiences there:

I miss Decatur.  When you move to a new city, there’s a natural mourning period for what you’ve left behind.  It’s like a hangover.  Some people get over it by the next morning, while others fight it for some time.  I can’t even really call the city home, since I only lived there for three years.  However, I did feel an intoxicating connection and tried every day to make it a better place to live.

I left behind an unsold house and, for that reason, still consider myself a Decatur resident.  With the recent onslaught of rain and storms, I worry a lot about my property.  Until it sells or washes away, I will continue to be a part of the community.  Is the ark built yet?  Are there still water usage restrictions?  Is Matt Damon still in town?

I’ll miss Decatur Celebration, Decatur Day at the State Fair, sunsets over the lake, tomato soup day at LSB, and Bizou smores.  I can still smell the Del’s on Merchant Street, but Dell doesn’t make popcorn down here in Austin. And thanks to technology, I’m never far away.  I can still listen live to Brian, read Decatur Magazine, watch Newscenter 17 on-line, and get the current weather forecast, calling for more rain.  I still have an Illinois driver’s license, the same (217) area code and number, and communicate regularly through e-mail to friends and business associates like they’re right next door.  I do, however, have a couple of wool blend suits and some long underwear that I bought there that should probably stay.

I’d like to remind you of a few more endearing quirks about Decatur.  Real men wear pink on Fridays, especially in October.  The only language barrier is the pronunciation of Eldorado Street.  Transfer means “to move from one location to another,” so logically The Transfer House will move again someday.  It may end up in Forsyth.  People are always impressed when you tell them that Splenda is made there, especially when you point out the yellow packet.  Plus, no matter where you go in the world, you always seem to run into someone who’s been there, done that, or knows where it is on the map.  After all, Hollywood just paid a visit.

Our city founders had one brilliant idea, but made three misjudgments in the process.  I thank them for creating the lake; yet feel they missed the boat on few key attractions.  We definitely shorted ourselves a few tourism pennies by not earlier capitalizing on Lincoln’s Decatur legacy.  There might yet be an opportunity for a Hall of Fame for Da Decatur Staley’s, ala a small tourist draw in Canton, Ohio.  Then, of course, there was the Mall.  The good news is that Forsyth had foresight, or the business might have left the county.

Some things remain the same when you move to a new city, even a thousand miles away.  There’s still other people’s trash to pick up, the doors need to be locked, and gas prices continue to soar.  I even waited on a train the other day and fed a hungry parking meter.  The city council is under attack, the mayor isn’t running for another term, and the Governor isn’t living in the mansion.  He fortunately wasn’t home either when someone tried to burn it down recently.  There are opportunities for good leadership both here and there.  It’s also not the position.  It’s the person behind the position.  Has Chief Illiniwick found a new job yet?

As a going away gift, friends gave me a set of unique cufflinks from The Brass Horn.  They’re inset with a map leading to Decatur, and instilled with good memories of a city where I’ll always be proud to have lived.  I didn’t give them much time to get a gift and certainly didn’t expect one.  The friendly people of Decatur, who welcomed me to join the community with open arms, were the greatest gift of all.  In fact, Decatur will probably always be the most generous and supportive community that I’ve ever experienced.  I hope the intent of the cufflink set was so I can find my way back there again soon.  Did I mention my house is for sale?  I’ll throw in the snow blower.