It has begun. My summer of living outside the confines of my normal, comforting routine is here. Behind me are the standard work days of a part-time payroll/bookeeper. Gone are the rituals of three meals a day, sleeping in the same bed each night, Tuesdays-are-laundry-days confines.
My adopted mantra for the coming I-don't-know-how-many months is: Be calm. Be flexible. Sit down and read something funny whenever the opportunity arises. And some time (well) before Christmas I hope to move into a brand-new smaller home with my marriage and good dishes intact. The new house plans, so carefully charted to scale with measurements and three-dimensional addenda for every possible construction detail, cover my entire dining room table surface. If only there was another table beside it charting how I am to get from this point (Let's call it A) to moving-in day (B).
While the internet is practically gasping under the weight of the home-decorating industry websites, there is nothing but hand-wringing when it comes to the logistics of a building-selling-packing-moving summer. And, of course, I understand why...no two builds-sales-quantities of possessions and moves will come close to being the same.
I know I am on my own. Even though I have a husband, I am on my own. He believes in the Moving Fairy. As I methodically purge and shred and pack and schlep away the detritus accumulated over two kids and twenty years in this location, his reaction is the equivalent to my announcement that his entire extended family will be coming to dinner on Friday: "I guess I should get some beer in."
It's good to know that the State of Upheaval is not a dry territory.
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