We don’t know where we’ll end up yet. All we know is that we’re selling our house and we’re living with my parents until we find a new one. We’ve needed to do this for a while. Our old house is just too small for Beau working from home with three kids.
It’s been more heart wrenching than I expected. We’ve loved and dreamed and created and pulled through and lived in that house for seven years. Beau and I have both been crying. Him, a few tears here and there. Me…with each and every single picture pulled off the walls and flower noticed that’s about to bloom.
Maryann wrote me the sweetest note. In it she said,
“I know you must be in the midst of emotional upheaval (and physical upheaval) with moving out of your adorable, long-loved house, and I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you often. So often that this morning I had a dream I was at your house and I sat in a chair in your living room and hugged myself to it and told you how happy I had been every time I was within those enchanted walls (or fairy garden).”
Yesterday I touched each plant in the garden and whispered to it to not be sad when we aren’t here when they wake up in the spring. As I walk through the empty rooms and barren back yard it feels like we’re leaving the spirit of our sweet family’s beginnings. Those twilit evenings eating popcorn in the treehouse with baby Finnadore, Oliver’s hobbled casted leg coming around the corner into the kitchen to ask for more avocado, the fresh mornings waking up to the smell of lily of the valley and lilacs, watching the snow fall in the couch pulled up to the picture window, painting with the roses nodding at me by the nook, picnics and parties and seclusion in that delicious backyard.
Jamie wrote me a quote from Anne’s house of Dreams that just about killed me. Anne’s first baby dies in their first house and she connects that sadness (and the joy of the one that lives) to her first house. I do too! I buried a teeny baby in the back garden under Jude the Obscure (a big peachy lemon scented garden rose). The memory of the experience will always be with that house. But as I stood there saying goodbye to Jude’s precious rose hips it dawned on me…
Hastily I grabbed a shovel and a bag and, with many thorn pokes of agreement from giant Jude, threw my favorite rose (who I had planted as a wee sprout) into a bag. The lilies and the lilacs and the bracken and the bluebells and the clematis and that cherished blue poppy can stay….
but Jude the obscure is coming with me.
So in the spirit of the unknown and the excitement of adventure (and being entirely debt free until we find a new home) we set out into the unknown. Because, hey, it could be anywhere! It could be a hobbit hole, another country, an island, a moving castle, a treehouse! And although we are frightened and losing sleep by all the the possibility, there is something very freeing about being gypsies with a great wash of nothingness in our future!