It’s our last week in the old homestead. All the pictures are off the walls, the curtains have been taken down, laundered and packed away. The floors are bare and even our slippered footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. It barely feels like home anymore, but even so… even in the midst of the packing and sorting and cleaning, I’m savoring every last minute we have here. As I sit in the almost empty rooms, I am thankful for the prettiness we were able to create here, the contentment we learned here,
the blessing this beautiful home has been to us for so many years.
I’ll remember summer breezes through these kitchen curtains,
and winter ice on my century old rose bush,
tiny woolen coats on my front door,
bright fresh flowers on my dining room table,
and so many warm tasty suppers on my old kitchen stove.
Bright and early in the morning, on Saturday the twenty-sixth, trucks and trailers will pull up out front and the wonderful men from my church will be here. They’ll pack up our furniture and what’s left of our bits and bobs and haul it all over to the New House. They’ll unload it and move it all inside, and they’ll be very patient while I decide exactly where I want each piece. The ladies of the church will make cupcakes and brownies, and Amelia will have homemade pizza waiting for the guys by lunchtime. Marcia has promised us a dinner for that evening and Deb another one for the next night. My mother and sister will be making the long trek up next week to help me hang curtains and organize kitchen cupboards. It will be exciting and wonderful and we can hardly wait for our wonderful new home.
But until all that happens, I’ll cherish every moment that this house is home.