Kimball’s Korner: The Art of the "What If"

At Happy Hour last night, a couple we know and love—along with their young daughter—got us thinking. They shared that they are seriously considering moving from our neighborhood to be closer to other families with young children while staying within their current school district. Listening to them plan their next move made us pause. It reminded us that life is a series of transitions, and it served as a catalyst for us to look further down the road. We’ve been having a lot of fun lately expanding our own horizons and imagining what retirement might actually look like. Now, before anyone gets ahead of themselves: we haven't made any final decisions. We still have plenty of time to plan—at least, we think we do. What we don't want is for that final "gig day" to sneak up on us only to realize we have no roadmap for the chapters that follow. We’re taking our time and asking the big questions. What does it look like if we stay put? What does it look like elsewhere? Most importantly, what will our days actually consist of? We already know our "must-haves" for a life well-lived: Service: Giving back to others and our four-legged friends. Engagement: Odd jobs or a fun part-time gig to stay active. Soul: A life built around community, music and good food. We’ve been careful students of those who retired before us, taking note of the pitfalls. We all know the cautionary tales: the person who retires only to escape a job they hate, losing their spark shortly after. Or those who leap without the financial means to support their golden years. My own parents found themselves in similar situations, and those lessons have stayed with us. The tactical side of this exploration—the budgeting, house hunting, and city scouting—is genuinely exciting. It’s amazing how quickly you can find information today when you’re looking for a new path. But it isn't all brochures and spreadsheets. In the back of our minds is the reality of politics, both in Idaho and across the country. We cannot ignore the momentum behind stripping away hard-won rights. As we look at the map, we have to ask: Which states offer the strongest protections should things change? Where can we live safely, without harm, enjoying the same rights our straight friends take for granted? Seeing those protections chipped away at here in Idaho weighs heavily on our hearts as we plan. So, for now, we research. We explore. There is no set timetable, especially as things remain raw following Barbara’s passing. The world feels heavy right now—between global conflict, high interest rates, and the everyday sting of inflation at the pump and the grocery store. In a volatile world, we’re choosing to be intentional. We’re dreaming big, but we’re making smart choices. For the foreseeable future, that means staying right where we are—with our eyes wide open.

Kimball’s Korner: Sanctuary in the Storm

Well, the writer’s block seems to have been jostled loose at last. In this week’s Kimball’s Korner, the sound of something sweet is finally blocking out the chaos surrounding us. The world outside is in a state of constant, jagged motion—all seemingly designed and plotted by masterminds to deflect and distract. And it’s working. Hook, line, and sinker. But if you are really paying attention, you will know that just outside your walls, the national debt blossoms like a weed, growing by over $7 billion every single day. Here in Idaho, the cost of living feels the squeeze as gas prices skyrocket, jumping nearly 50 cents in a single week to $3.79 a gallon (I know, I know—it’s the "former guy's" fault), while the shadow of unemployment creeps up to 4.4%. Even the simple hope of escape has turned sour. At the airports, TSA workers are being forced to work without paychecks as the shutdown drags on, leading to sprawling lines and the heartbreak of missed dream vacations. Families who saved for years now stand stranded at gates, caught in the gears of a friction they didn’t create. Over 300 TSA agents have quit this week alone, tired of being used as pawns. Just up the street, the air feels heavy with the restless rumble of Idaho politics. I can almost hear the tension of the Statehouse, where the performative noise of memorials to overturn same-sex marriage and bills to ban nylon pride flags from city halls seemingly take precedence over the crumbling foundations of our daily lives. In the halls of power, these distractions appear more important than the housing crisis, our failing infrastructure, or our struggling schools. Even our very well-being is on the chopping block; while health insurance premiums jump another 10% this year and federal subsidies vanish, our leaders are mulling over $22 million in cuts to Medicaid services for the disabled. It’s a bitter pill to swallow: paying more for less, while the state’s budget sits dried up with a $44 million deficit looming. It feels as though every corner of our lives is being pulled tight by a string that is ready to snap. Yet, I woke up this morning to a different reality—one we have been lucky enough to claim for years. As I lay in bed, the warmth of a coffee mug in my hands, the noise of the world faded into the background. I heard them: the soft, rhythmic cooing of two doves. They have returned once again to the very same tree and the very same nest, indifferent to the churn of the economy, the shutdown of the government, or the shouting under the rotunda. In their steady return, spring hasn't just arrived; it has come home. While so many are caught up in supporting the noise, the wars, and the lack of unity fracturing our country, I choose a different path today. I will open the window to let in the song of the doves. It seems to be the only true peace left in the world right now—and for that simple, soaring grace, I am deeply grateful. Today, try to listen for something different. If you can hear above the noise and chaos.