The final weekend in this house that we are walking away from. Most of our possessions are now inside of boxes in most rooms of the house. Art work is down and the walls are bare.
We spent Saturday getting the keys to our new home, a lovely little Spanish revival style house in a community 35 minutes farther southwest from Stockton. 35 minutes, but a world away.
Sunday and today we took carloads of things to the new house to avoid having to box them up; artwork, kitchen pots and pans, my succulents. One of our sons introduced us to a wonderful garden center just down the country road we will live off of, so my frustration of not buying any plants this spring will soon be quelled.
So, where does this put us? This week we are in a sort of limbo, between houses; things here and things there. The roots, shallow though they are here in Stockton, are being pulled up. A note to those who think badly of those of us who walk away from our house/mortgage: we are being uprooted, even if self imposed, and it is not easy on the soul. It is not done lightly.
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