We'd only been at our little lake house about six years. I love it out here. Love the lake, love the neighbors, love my little fruit trees and berry bushes and veggie garden. So, why am I moving? Good question. I came to realize I didn't love being out in our double lot, constantly weeding. I didn't love being snowed in during winter, waiting for the snowplows to come dig us out. And I had visions of one of us slipping on our steep driveway once we got older and breaking something.
Still, now that it's time to leave I'm sad. We probably wouldn't have fallen. The house was big enough that when we got old we had a whole section we could reserve for a live-in caregiver. There's no room for a freezer in the new condo and I'm going to have to leave behind my wood stove. Although I'll also leave behind the mess and the hassle of bringing in wood. (Ah, the mixed emotions that come with change.)
I'm trading one lovely view for another, so that's not a bad deal. And there's something to be said for the convenience of living in town, near all the amenities, being able to walk to local shops and restaurants. Gerhardt is so excited I can hardly stand it. So, when I'm not sad about leaving, I'm excited.
Mostly though, I'm pooped. Those of you who have moved know what I'm talking about. The whole thing is exhausting - the packing, the hurking boxes, the shedding of excess stuff no longer needed (I've lost count of how many trips we've made to Goodwill!)
Official moving day is tomorrow and, bless his heart, Gerhardt is sending me off to the ocean with my buddy Jill Barnett to Sheila-sit me. He'll remain behind to supervise the movers, get the cable hooked up and play with setting up the sound system and his man cave (which has shrunk considerably). The end is almost here. The baby is almost down the birth canal. I just have to hang in there a little longer. Soon it will be worth all the hassle and hard work. Wish me luck!