It is raining and I am unpacking.

Ally is laying next to me. This is not pleasant because she has had a small skunk encounter. Shampoo and tomato paste - the best I could come up with - has not worked and I'm hoping it will just fade away. Meanwhile, well, she's even funkier than usual.

Robby is about 10 minutes away at his first cousin's (my ex's brother's ex-wife -- follow that?!) house. He spent the night there last eve, reacquainting himself with the 12-year-old boy he's seen all too rarely over the years. I love this connection for him, as well as the re-connection he's making with my ex's mother and brother - both 15 minutes away. We have spotted several 10-year-old-ish boys wandering our apartment complex. Robby is still mustering up the courage to speak to them. I love this potential connection, too.

I explore the complex with Ally by my side - a little farther from my side than normal - and without turning my head to actually look and acknowledge, I notice lots of small pick-ups with single male drivers passing by. There are no women in the passenger seats and the music typically is blaring. These most certainly must be bachelors. I love this potential connection as well.

I have felt frustrated and discontent - with my closet a post-move receptacle for everything that goes nowhere else and artwork leaning against every wall - until today. Today, I clear the cluttered pathway into the walk-in closet - my first! - hang clothes, organize my shoes and find a hidden spot for the litter box. Somehow, that clears my brain for the real work of making our pretty little apartment home.

Suddenly, I look around and it all falls into place. I can't move quickly enough to pound nails and hang art.

And as each piece finds its new resting place, my discontent fades further. Slowly, color begins to splash every room. Venice, Klimt, the dancing martinis and the cartoony black cat in a field of pink-and-yellow flowers slide home on the walls, making our new space familiar and warm.

I take a break to find the closest liquor and grocery stores, and stumble upon a PetCo where I spend an embarrassing sum of money on a cat harness and leash for George. Both are laughably thin. Both also are bright blue with reflective, silver/white tiny paw prints traveling their lengths.

My car turns toward home, and then I see it in my rear-view mirror - the familiar red target on the side of a building. I take a U-turn at the next intersection and head back. The Target sits up on a hill, glowing down so that sharp-eyed interstate travelers and mall shoppers can see it. It is monstrous. Not just a Super Target but a mega Super Target. It has its own parking garage, with an underground level. Inside, I see escalators leading down to the subterranean parking area. One of the escalators is bizarrely wide. A sign reads, "Carts only." I stare, feeling like a country bumpkin in a brand new world.

The checker tells me this is the largest Target ever built. The biggest Target ever - a mile from my home! I feel like I've just gotten a peek at heaven.

This area of south Denver is recently developed, and everything is so new it practically sparkles. Even the bank is unlike anything I've seen before. Bank clerks don't stand behind a long, formal counter, but at thin counters with only a pedestal support below. It has a futuristic feel. I half expect to see clerks dressed like Jane Jetson.

The clerk who waits on me is young, blonde and cute. I ask for a cashier's check to be made out to the apartment complex.

"That's where I live!" she says. She tells me she loves it there, and answers my rapid-fire questions enthusiastically. We are so deep in conversation that she makes a $3 error on the check, and I have to return later for a replacement.

Robby stands in the lobby, waiting. We walk out together and he looks up at me - not nearly the distance it so recently was. "You know what I was thinking when you were in there? I was thinking you guys are gonna be friends."

"Yes, but Robby, she's so much younger than me," I said.

"So?" he says, with a wisdom that momentarily surpasses mine.

Robby and I are adjusting well. Even George is coming along, but at a snail's pace. We tried to walk him with his new get-up last night. It was a painful process. He tried to squeeze his shoulders through it, laid down, stood up, all the while lashing his tail. Sometimes he started trotting down the sidewalk with us, a model of proper behavior. Then he stopped dead in his tracks and started the whole rebellion over again. This will take time.

Life for us all feels so much different than it did a week ago. To me, the newspaper seems a world away and when I think of it - which is surprisingly rare - it feels like a bad dream. For now, the world is bright with possibility.

As we drove away from Colorado Springs Wednesday, the moving van in our rear-view mirror, Boston's "Long Time" came on the radio.

"This could be our farewell song, Robby," I say. He ignores me, but I hope he is listening to the lyrics.

(And since black-and-white printed lyrics don't resonate like the song, I hope you will call up the tune and put music to them. Close your eyes and maybe you can be right there with me and Robby, but in the back, which unfortunately puts you next to the funky dog.)

It's been such a long time
I think I should be goin', yeah
And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'
Sail on, on a distant highway
I've got to keep on chasin' a dream
I've gotta be on my way
Wish there was something I could say.

Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' on
You'll forget about me after I've been gone
And I take what I find, I don't want no more
It's just outside of your front door.

I try to sing along, but emotion chokes my throat closed.

I see Pikes Peak disappearing over my left shoulder. But I bring my eyes back to the road, which is taking us swiftly north.

It is taking us home.