“You know, Mama, not everyone sees new places by moving to them.”

My daughter was not impressed when I told her we were moving to England. Or Spain. Or Scotland. Or—most recently—Italy. Most people, she pointed out, just book a week somewhere, buy a plane ticket, try not to drink the water, and hope they come back without too many new tattoos.

I blame Covid.

During four and a half months of lockdown in Scotland, the Hub and I worked on the house and garden. It looked better than ever before. We made plans for all the upgrades we should tackle next. He made to-do lists on his phone—lists so extensive it would take the rest of our remaining lifespans and possibly those of several future generations to accomplish.

(Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe ToDo lists?)

So of course, when the Hub mentioned an opportunity to move…