It is two in the afternoon and the movers just left . . . promising to return in a couple hours for a second truckload. Who knew we had accumulated so much stuff in the almost ten years we’ve owned this house?
In the beginning, the house was so empty we could have played basketball in it. Then the furniture and the artwork and the accessories began to arrive one by one or in small groups: The red couch and chair for the family room; the dining set, the piano. Over the years we enjoyed seeing our home come together in terms of style and comfort and the things we liked. We settled in.
I turned sixty, and then sixty-five. I changed careers and learned the joys of piano lessons. Took up swimming and joined a book club. Earl turned seventy and we had a hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind mechanical clock made to mark the occasion too. We didn’t entertain a lot, but when we did the layout of our house made it effortless. We buried our own parents and saw four great grandchildren – all boys – join the family.
As the movers did their job this afternoon, I watched the house return to its former empty state. I remembered my decorator friend Lyn who helped me install the new carpet and window treatments and always encouraged the use of color. Which might be part of the reason why every room in this house was painted a different hue. Had she not passed away this spring, I would probably have called her to be with me today.
Instead I watched the movers alone and decided not to focus on what was leaving but what was staying behind and going to our new home. There are a few select pieces of furniture, much of our large artwork, various assorted signs such as the one that exclaims “Our gourmet kitchen is closed; try our famous peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” and my piano of course. And all the memories.
Especially the memories.
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