We hope to finish boxing books today, and then we’re attending a party given by some of our soon-to-be neighbors. It’s the monthly potluck that is held in the community clubhouse and hosted, evidently on a revolving basis, by various couples who reside there. It will be our first introduction to social life in our new home.

The information we received was that, this month, the “entrйe” was to be submarine sandwiches. Residents bring a dish to pass and their own table service. I’m bringing a southwestern salad, although Earl lobbied for our always-popular funeral potatoes. But I thought they could possibly out-do the subs in popularity. And that wouldn’t go over well as our first introduction into Michigan condo living.

We have rented a second storage locker near our new home to hold some of the things that our garage currently stores for us. Our new garage is about half the size of the present one; and, while we’re trying to be surgical about this downsizing move, we can see that some things need a temporary home as we divest ourselves of them.

Earl rented the locker yesterday, and today we raided a carpet store and took a variety of wooden pallets (with the owner’s blessing) to set on the concrete floor of the locker in case there are water issues. Earl packed a broom and two pair of garden gloves (Pallets are raw wood, full of splinters waiting to find new home.) and off we went to prep the locker for various items to come. He swept; I watched. Great division of labor here.

Then we hauled the pallets from the car and laid them in the locker, whose walls are simple plywood. Given my love of decorating I felt those walls needed some artwork and said so. Earl just shook his head as we got back in the car to listen to the Notre Dame/Michigan State football game.

But, honestly, I know just the art to hang. It’s one my son bought over 25 years ago. It won’t work in our new place, but it will be perfect for our plywood addition.

We are sorting books into two categories: those that are going to the auction house and those that are going to our new home. Either way they are all ending up in boxes.

Earl and I each have our own collection of reading materials. His runs toward history, investing, baseball, and fishing. Mine leans toward poetry, contemporary fiction, books on the craft of writing a book, and children’s stories. We are both culling our own books, but Earl made a rule that any book one of us wants to get rid of must be approved by the other.

“Maybe there’s a book I have that you still want,” he said. “So both of us have to agree to send it away.” At first, given the diversity of our interests, I thought this would be unlikely. But when I looked through the books he chose to discard, I actually found a few that I wanted. One, believe it or not, was about baseball. I’d actually given him this particular book, but that wasn’t why I wanted it to make the cut to the new home. Having taken the time to read it before gifting it, I’d found this book interesting and wanted it for my own permanent collection.

In a roundabout way, this also made us create Corollary One: If one of us doesn’t want to keep a book the other gave to us, there are to be no hurt feelings. So when he pitched a beautiful coffee table book about wooden sailboats that had sentimental value to me, I didn’t retrieve it.

Earl is in box-making mode, having visited the local box company today and purchased 25 of its finest containers. He’s taping the bottoms like a madman and stacking them in the family room. Good thing we have a vaulted ceiling.

This may seem premature since we’re not moving for a while, but it isn’t. Actually most of our furniture leaves our home in two weeks, on Day 16, to go to an auction house. And when you move from a large place to one half the size, the decisions of what to bring with you should be made carefully. Almost surgically. Otherwise the new place will look like a warehouse from the get-go.

The good news is we’ll have less to clean and care for here after October 1; the bad news is that we need to start packing those items that are not making the cut to the new home. Hence, the box-making. Rule #1: The boxes must be relatively small when you’re discarding books. Rule #2: They must be relatively large for bedding items. Rule #3: There is always more to pack than one realizes.

So we’re heading into the weekend and getting a jump start on the packing, because –given everything else we’re involved in — Day 16 will be here before you know it.

Yesterday we closed on the sale of the house we’ve called home for several years. It’s a sprawling ranch; at least it sprawls when only two people live in it. And we’ve loved being here. Yet, we’re moving on.

With this in mind, my calendar has been reconstructed. We have sixty days from today to get our next home finished (It’s in the construction stage) and move into it. So instead of looking at days and dates, my life for the foreseeable future is about the number ’60.’ I’ve created a timeline to track what I should do on Day 4 or Day 12 or even Day 59; and it really doesn’t matter what day of the week it is. Ironically, Day 59 is Friday the 13th of November. Given the sale of our current house was a very difficult ordeal, I’m thinking there’s some irony is making sure we’recompletely moved on by that day.

So I really have a 59 day calendar. Not a problem.

Seventeen months ago we put our house on the market, smack in the middle of the real estate recession. Since then we’ve had who-knows-how-many people come through our home, commenting on this and questioning that. We knew it was part of the process.

Two months ago, we received an offer. Not what we would have hoped in terms of dollars, but there are other less tangible factors that helped us make the decision to accept it. We close on September 15, five days from now.

One of the things we negotiated in the sales contract was that we could stay beyond the closing for sixty days while our new home, currently under construction, was being finished. I’m not unhappy with this decision, but I wonder how I’ll feel after closing. Will I feel the house is still mine? Or will I think I’m now living in a temporary rental while planning for our next residence?

I don’t know, although I do sense a beginning to withdraw my emotional investment in this current home. I’m about to create ‘To Do’ lists of what must be done at the new place. As of next Tuesday, I’m on a time schedule with no flexibility. I need to look forward.

Yet, of all the thirty-four places I’ve lived this has been my favorite. Whenever I pulled into the garage, closed the wide door, and then walked onto our deck I felt a sense of security and peace that is unparalleled. I’ve loved this house. So when the moment comes to drive away for the last time I suspect I’ll be in tears. My heart will break, but my mind will encourage me to accept that it was time to move on.