Mind you, I am moving at the busiest part of the summer for me, into a house that is being cleared, cleaned, and painted in a two-week period, during the wettest, stormiest late sparin g in Kansas history. So it’s not a surprise at all if I am not sleeping and not especially happy with life on a minute-to-minute scale.
So many surprises and sudden costs: where to store what, for how long, how safely. Will the arm chairs fit in the storm cellar? If they won’t where else can they go? Transferring gas, power, trash, internet, phone…
And the secret costs. This is the last week I will be seeing these baby squirrels, these young rabbits, this particular shameless flicker. I am moving onto a forested lot, so no more meadow birds. How will all these little guys be? This is the last week I’ll sleep in these charming walls, eat in this friendly, sunny dining area, looking out on the front lawn, the church across the street. There are a million reasons this is the right thing, yet I didn’t expect to feel quite so much sadness about it.
There are benefits, of course. This will be cheaper, larger. More bedrooms for guests, a giant basement with no purpose at all…yet. The forest that abuts the back patio means it feels like living in a treehouse. I imagine what it will be like to drink coffee and look out, when the feeding trays are installed and the squirrels visit this fall. I have known the landlord as a friend for many years, and potentially this could be a place I stay for a while. And all the chaos will be over in a few weeks.
Meanwhile, the actual move of all my stuff happens Thursday. I stay in hotels for a couple of days, and then in the dorms for the summer workshops for a couple of weeks, and then I can start unpacking. And then it will be a home.