We have been in the house now for about a week. This time last Saturday, we were just about finishing the last of the loads of big furniture. A friend lent a hand and a truck, and in three truck loads we moved all the big stuff. With our car, we hauled the rest. Last Saturday was exhausting; up at seven, we moved all day, and when we were finished moving we spent the evening at the old house, cleaning every inch of it. Back at home, nourished by take-out burritos, we had the energy to put our bed back together and unpack a few things before crashing. That was the first night in a couple of weeks that I had slept well; we had resolved things with our landlord (mostly), closed on the house, and actually moved in. Now, a week later, we’re still getting settled (I keep looking for oil and pepper in the wrong cabinet) but it sure is nice to have a place we really can call our own. We even got paid yesterday, making our financial horizon just a bit brighter.
The window next to the desk looks right out onto the backyard, through the lemon tree. I can sit here and type while keeping and eye on the dogs (sunning themselves in the yard), feeling quite content—except for the huge amount of reading I need to get working on.
Always more to do! But at least now we can do it in our very own home.