My husband and I are in our 80s, and we have moved 10 times over our 59 years of marriage. Sometimes a move would be because of a job transfer; other times we wanted to try something new, such as living on a farm or in the city of Boston, or changing the size of our yard and house.

Each move has been an adventure. My husband grew up in a small Maine town, and I grew up outside New York City. We had different childhoods, but we both loved old houses, big houses, small houses and all kinds of architecture. Each home we repaired and improved and then sold, sometimes for three times what we’d originally paid.

What we thought would be our last house was in a newly built community of smaller homes. As some of the first residents, we could choose everything from sinks to tile to paint to the size of each room, resulting in a really lovely place to live out our years together.

Not to be. After seven years, my careful, thoughtful husband decided we should be in a smaller home such as a condominium. It took another year, but we finally found a place we thought would be perfect with maybe a few changes.

Then, for the first time, we ran into a buzz saw. We knew we would need to buy new appliances, revamp some rooms, paint a few walls and build a cupboard or two along with a new bookcase. However, when all the appliances arrived, the installers couldn’t fit the dishwasher into the allotted space, and the electric stove could only be used with special magnetic induction pots. So we gave the kids all the old pots, bought new ones – and then decided we didn’t like the stove.

The refrigerator turned out to be an eighth of an inch too tall, so that went back also. The last bit of trouble was when we decided to build a fire in our first fireplace in seven years. Smoke started billowing out of the fireplace, filling the house and making our eyes burn. Doors were opened, windows as well, as we fanned with newspapers.

This time, it was our fault for not opening our flue all the way. We thought we had pulled that chain as hard as we could. Bad karma once again.

But wait – today, after more than a month and a half of waiting, we have a perfect fit for the dishwasher and it works beautifully. A shorter, narrower fridge is fine for our needs. I like the stove; my very special pots are attractive, and they heat up faster than gas. The fireplace flue remains open at all times.

It was our very worst move ever. But the good news is that we have super neighbors, lovely woods behind us, lots of sunshine beaming through and new friends all around.

Thinking of moving in old age? Do it NOW. Throw and give away almost everything and be prepared for anything.