My cell phone was vibrating like a dryer set at hyper-speed, and my wife’s name popped up on the screen. My first thought was that something had gone wrong. I did tell her to call only if there were problems with the movers. I was on the other side of town, a prisoner at the Department of Motor Vehicles, waiting for my turn to be seen.

There wasn’t much I could do if there was a problem, but I took her call anyway. “The removal guys are asking what a shed is,” she said, laughing. To date, that is the oddest statement my wife has made during our monumental move from Scotland to America.

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