The old home, with U-Haul. And hundreds of birds roosting on the roof. Omen?
Those keen-eyed readers out there might have noticed I did not have a column last week, and for those tens of fans, I’m grateful.
There was good reason, last week was the long-awaited “Big Move,” and we went right down to the wire as far as getting stuff out of our home and cleaning it up before settlement.
The plan was never for me to physically perform the move, it was to get young muscle hired to do it for us. Best-laid plans. Of course, reality being what it is, we did it ourselves, with a little help from some friends.
Complicating the fun, our landing spot at most could accommodate a 15-foot truck. I’ll save you the math, that’s not much for a four-bedroom, two-story home with a finished basement.
The result was two runs to our 10 by 15 storage unit, and four runs to our new home.
I’m sure more than a few middle-aged men out there will understand the hubris involved in thinking you can pull most of that off yourself. I find, though I may be getting older, I still think of myself as that kid in his mid-20s pulling off a move solo.
Let alone that was an apartment.
No worries, the body has a way of letting you know the limits your brain seems so unwilling to accept. The knees, the hip and the back are all letting me know I’m an idiot.
Keeping it chaotic did have a side benefit – not much down time to reflect on the emotions of leaving our home of seven years. A lot of memories.
A lifelong renter since leaving home, I never pictured owning my own home, let alone having one built. Sure, it was in a development, but we picked the color, the upgrades, the style and the plot of land. Over time, we painted it, furnished it and truly made it our own.
The kid grew from a 10-year-old to a soon-to-be college freshman. We had three dogs and two cats in that home, two of the dogs still with us. I learned a lot about what I could (and could not) do in the world of home repair and surprised myself more than a few times with what I could do.
In the end, it wasn’t a house, it was a home, and that is all anyone could ask.
Yet, despite all that, it was still just a thing. Life is not about inanimate objects, and this move is simply turning the page to begin the next chapter of our journey as the kid makes that next step toward college.
Just a couple of weeks ago, after long consideration, she committed to the University of New Haven Forensic Science program.
Last weekend, she skipped out on helping us pack to go to an open house for the music program. That timing seems a little convenient, if you ask me, but in all seriousness, we couldn’t be more proud.
Letting go of our anchor, despite our sentimental attachments, means we have more flexibility to be part of it all. Sure, it’s an adjustment, particularly for our pups, but we don’t want to miss out on a single moment.
I can only hope that old home brings as much joy to its new owners as it brought to us, but then, it’s all in how you fill it.
There was good reason, last week was the long-awaited “Big Move,” and we went right down to the wire as far as getting stuff out of our home and cleaning it up before settlement.
The plan was never for me to physically perform the move, it was to get young muscle hired to do it for us. Best-laid plans. Of course, reality being what it is, we did it ourselves, with a little help from some friends.
Complicating the fun, our landing spot at most could accommodate a 15-foot truck. I’ll save you the math, that’s not much for a four-bedroom, two-story home with a finished basement.
The result was two runs to our 10 by 15 storage unit, and four runs to our new home.
I’m sure more than a few middle-aged men out there will understand the hubris involved in thinking you can pull most of that off yourself. I find, though I may be getting older, I still think of myself as that kid in his mid-20s pulling off a move solo.
Let alone that was an apartment.
No worries, the body has a way of letting you know the limits your brain seems so unwilling to accept. The knees, the hip and the back are all letting me know I’m an idiot.
Keeping it chaotic did have a side benefit – not much down time to reflect on the emotions of leaving our home of seven years. A lot of memories.
A lifelong renter since leaving home, I never pictured owning my own home, let alone having one built. Sure, it was in a development, but we picked the color, the upgrades, the style and the plot of land. Over time, we painted it, furnished it and truly made it our own.
The kid grew from a 10-year-old to a soon-to-be college freshman. We had three dogs and two cats in that home, two of the dogs still with us. I learned a lot about what I could (and could not) do in the world of home repair and surprised myself more than a few times with what I could do.
In the end, it wasn’t a house, it was a home, and that is all anyone could ask.
Yet, despite all that, it was still just a thing. Life is not about inanimate objects, and this move is simply turning the page to begin the next chapter of our journey as the kid makes that next step toward college.
Just a couple of weeks ago, after long consideration, she committed to the University of New Haven Forensic Science program.
Last weekend, she skipped out on helping us pack to go to an open house for the music program. That timing seems a little convenient, if you ask me, but in all seriousness, we couldn’t be more proud.
Letting go of our anchor, despite our sentimental attachments, means we have more flexibility to be part of it all. Sure, it’s an adjustment, particularly for our pups, but we don’t want to miss out on a single moment.
I can only hope that old home brings as much joy to its new owners as it brought to us, but then, it’s all in how you fill it.
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