As with most big steps in life, I was thrilled. More excited than I've been in a long time. But also unnerved by change. And losing sleep over whether I was doing the "right thing." (Other than moral dilemmas, there is seldom the "right decision" -- there are just different decisions with different outcomes).

The grandkids didn't want me to move. After all, my Sylvan condo had always been Gramma's house, a steady haven through divorce, moves and personal upheavals. So we reminisced about all the good times we'd had there, from catching frogs in the stream out back to building card-table forts inside. One child penned a "Dear House" letter in my journal. And before the move, we all trekked out to preview Gramma's houseboat, courtesy of the child-savvy owner.

"Cool!" they chorused. Then the older two went off to visit their dad, leaving just Ashley (Dorian's too little) to savor summer on the river.

Mornings we water the riot of flowers by clicking on the hose to activate the submersible pump. Then we'll go for a "stroll" about our watery neighborhood in the little blue pedal boat. Which always works up a sweat. Time to don lifevests and clamber down the ladder off the deck to the river and drift past the neighbors at a pace leisurely enough to strike up a conversation.

Indeed, in only a week, about 18 people introduced themselves. More than I ever met during landlubber years in house, apartment or condo. These river rats are a friendly lot!

Life on the river is a lot like camping; folks seem to rise with the sun and go to bed when it goes down. This works out well, as I left my TV (and microwave) ashore, choosing to live instead with the rhythms of nature.

In the evenings, fish jump for their dinner, and spiders dine on their catches closer up. During my four days away from the office, the only web site I see belongs to Alvin, the spider in the righthand corner of the awning (I always name spiders Alvin -- it seems so arachnid).  With so much to see, who needs TV?

But not even dreams are without their downside.

It's a l-o-n-g walk down the old walkway; you never make a trip empty-handed. And, sure, you leave behind barking dogs and their residue, only to deal with idiot boaters oblivious to the 5 mph "slow -- no wake" law within 200 feet of houseboats (if this houseboat's rockin', there's a boater deserves knockin'). And making double payments because the condo hasn't sold yet is a true belt-tightener.

Yet I sit on deck and giggle at my good fortune. "A houseboat? That's my fantasy!" friends and even strangers confess.

What's your dream?
What are you waiting for?