It’s the weekend that wasn’t. At least if your idea of a weekend is taking it easy, kicking around downtown with a coffee and maybe taking a long stroll through the park. No. This wasn’t one of those.
To be fair, we did go get coffee a couple times. It was a nice break. And we even grabbed some gelato and ice cream on a couple occasions. But overall, there was a lot of work going on. The POD is full and waiting to be picked up tomorrow morning. I pray that everything in there is in the same shape a month from now as it is today. God speed, leather set!
On one trip out the door this afternoon, I paused to consider the psychology of moving. Clearing stuff out of a home and getting it cleaned top to bottom is a good way to create some ill will. But I love our old house. We’ve had a lot of fond memories there. Here’s one of my favorites:
A couple years ago, we were sitting in our dining room with two friends of ours who’d just gotten engaged. They’d been together for a long time, and we were having a great time drinking mimosas and eating pastries. Then there was a knock on the door. Two more of our dear friends were at the door, and the male part of the pair had just proposed to his love over the loudspeaker at the finish line of a local road race held every year. So here we were, the six of us, all in love and happy and spontaneous and not knowing anything about life’s troubles for a couple hours. It was perfect.
And of course there’s Ava, and the light she brought to our home that filled every corner of the place. And the day I sat and watched Leah’s stylist friend do her hair in our living room in preparation for our wedding. They’re big moments for our family, but they pale in comparison to the decades of life that Laura Memler and her family spent in that home. Seventy years. An entire adult life. And then some. They made our house what it was, and we’re lucky and honored to have had the chance to care for a place that holds so much meaning.