2002: The Year the Sky Fell In
I seriously considered breaking off this account at the end of 2001. That spring, we still insisted, only half-jokingly, that we’d leave Timbaloo and Massachusetts only in a couple of pine boxes. I was still drawing an adequate salary from CoMMensa, Inc., working from home, and its demands on my time and energies still left me free to do a satisfying and fascinating stream of family history work. We enjoyed hugely our work in the new Temple, down the street, and we’d been assured, albeit unofficially, that those rôles would last as long as we did. By and large, our descendants were prospering and multiplying, and we found the grandparent gig, if geographically challenging, the best racket ever. Bref, we’d arrived at something close to the situation we’d been working toward for most of a half-century.

Then the sky fell in. Old friend, unofficial CoMMensa partner, and principal rain-maker Dr. Norman K. Hollenberg had a quintuple-bypass operation, and it took him a while to recover. Our final customer wanted us to include among the authors of a paper the names of some participants whose contributions hadn’t justified their inclusion, and they held up our final payments to put pressure on us. Meanwhile, CoMMensa, Inc., wasn’t getting the new work it needed to survive.

So, after some abortive efforts to remain employed, we sold Timbaloo, and I disincorporated the Company as of New Year’s Eve, 31 December 2002. Since there was no way we could stay without an income, we retired and left Massachusetts the next day. The nice real estate lady said that we should be grateful that our investment in Timbaloo had paid off1, and that our beloved home was now presenting us with solvency for the rest of our lives.

Now, in 2013, I remember 2002 as a time of pain, loss, and sorrow that I really don’t want to revisit, nor to visit upon you, whoever you may ultimately be.

Then I looked back into the photos we took, particularly in the first half of the year. They reminded me that we did share some good times, even in that dreadful year, with scattered loved ones and with friends in Arlington. And if lasting importance attaches to any of my family history researches, those of 2002 must be counted among them.

So, here goes. As in the segment for 2001, I’ll organize the next page as an index to my account of 2002, including the categories of “Treasure Cities” and “Buried Treasures.”
1We don’t claim to be clever about money. So we can only chalk it up to a kindly Providence that we’ve dodged enough financial bullets to escape penury. During our thirty years’ occupancy, Timbaloo’s market value had grown something like tenfold. Given her beauty and matchless location and locally-unusual back yard, I suspect that value would have survived the 2006 housing bubble rather well, but we can be grateful that our transition happened sooner than that. I guess. Emotionally, I wish we could have cut it a bit closer, for the sake of what we might have done with a couple more years in Arlington Heights.
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