TTFN

Well, blog people, this will be my last message from the old homestead. It is our last day in it as our home as we knew it. Although we do not actually move until Tuesday, tomorrow the movers come and box everything up. So this evening we will be shutting down our computers preparatory to that, and when we next fire them up it will be from our wonderful new place. How soon I’m back blogging at you depends upon (1) whether our Internet Service Provider is Providing Internet Service right away; (2) how quickly we figure out -- without The Lad, who no longer lives with us! -- how to get ourselves up and running; and (3) when I find the time and energy to blog after the flurry of moving!

But one day soon Grammar will be back to tell you how it all went. Wish us luck, and goodbye from this station!

July Wedding Number One

Grammar had a good day today. It was just what she needed: a distraction from waiflike wandering in the domicile. It was the wedding of a dear pseudo-niece, held at Hycroft, a beautiful Edwardian mansion owned since 1962 by the University Women’s Club of Vancouver. (Interesting side-note: when the club purchased it, they had to pay in full, as women at that time could not hold mortgages in their own right.) Absolutely fabulous spot to hold a wedding and SRH and I enjoyed ourselves very much.

The Jaynut, Grammar’s dear old school chum from a lifetime ago and dear old friend to this date, looked so beautiful and proud and ridiculously slender in a stunning red dress. Grammar was watching her face more than the bride’s during the ceremony and it just seemed so impossible that someone who is still about 17 years old in my mind was watching her daughter get married.

Mind you, today Grammar saw many old faces with remnants of people she knew 25 or 30 years ago hiding under the wrinkles and pounds. She saw, for example, the older brother of the Jaynut, looking far too wise and grandfatherly for someone who used to tease me by endlessly calling me Lima Bean. (Long and silly story -- but he remembered!)

It was not the sort of formal reception given to speeches but instead the guests roamed the various rooms of the stately mansion, nibbling, drinking, mingling. It felt like a very relaxed and comfortable house party and I made a mental note to recommend just such a wedding to VCCGirl for when her time comes.

However, had I had opportunity to make a speech, I probably would have told the story of when the bride (let’s call her Kaitlyn) was about three years old and Grammar was visiting with her in her home. We were playing some sort of complicated game of Kaitlyn’s devising. Luckily, as Grammar was pregnant at the time and rather a victim of inertia, my role merely required me to lounge on the couch and eat the tea party food served to me. After I had dutifully consumed a particularly frangible cookie, Kaitlyn commenced a very thorough brushing off of my bosom. When I remarked after a time that I thought I was probably quite clean by now, wee Kaitlyn exclaimed, “Oh, no! You don’t want crumbs on your breasts! When I have breasts, I won’t want crumbs on them!”

So there you are, new husband of Kaitlyn: my wise advice on this your wedding day. It will behoove you to make sure your wife’s breasts are always crumb-free.

Outside my Door

Five days to the big move! Yes, I am still freaking out, spending much time nomadic in my home, dragging my trailer of memories behind me. But I am also trying to remember that the entire world does not revolve around Grammar’s relocation. It’s hard; this event feels as overwhelming to me as anything ever has in my life, particularly with the added twist (of the heart) that my Little Guy moves away from home on the very same day.

But I fear I’m beginning to wear out the compassionate listening ears of even those who care the most. I do not want to become a screened phone number, or encounter nothing but “Appears Offline” on Messenger. So I’m trying to get a grip. I’m trying to get some perspective. I’m trying to focus more on the world outside my door.

Outside my door, friends have children living -- or about to commence -- exciting lives overseas. Blogs are wonderful things for keeping us all updated on their adventures, although the young do seem to be unclear on the concept of how much and what sort of detail is required for us old folks at home to be able to properly live vicariously through them.

Outside my door, there are weddings galore happening this month. This weekend a young namesake, daughter of the Jaynut, a successful, brilliant and beautiful young woman, will be walking down the aisle, despite the fact that my brain insists she was born about two weeks ago. A couple of weeks later, an old friend is quietly marrying for a second time, looking for another shot at the happiness he well deserves. And at the end of the month, dear sister Punkin is formalizing a union of decades. If the sun is shining brightly for that event, we all run the risk of being blinded by her gigantotron ring, but I guess we’ll take the chance.

Outside my door, summer has at last arrived in Grammar’s town, and although a little too hot at times, I’ve kept the complaining about that to a minimum. It’s been so soft and pretty, here in the most beautiful place on Earth where I am lucky enough to live.

And in five days, in an exciting new home!

Is this really happening?

I am moving in 19 days. I am leaving the house where I’ve spent two happy decades, raising my family. In 19 days I am leaving the place that has been my home, my castle, my sanctuary, and will no longer have the right to walk in its front door.

I don’t think I have been this emotionally labile since my teens. One day I am weepy and morose, the next I am manic with excitement. Some nights I lie in bed and my heart starts to pound and I can hardly breathe and have to get up. Other nights I fall into a coma of emotional exhaustion. Moving has made me bipolar.

I got to go into my new house yesterday, for the first time since being its putative owner. It is completely different than the two previous times I had been inside, when I was merely eying its potential. This time I was looking around at rooms that are mine. Luckily, I still loved it. A lot. That made me giddy with relief and glee. This is going to work! I am going to be able to bond with my new castle.

We just need to get through the moving days first -- and there are three of them, really. July 7 the movers come and box everything up except our beds and essentials. July 8 we move. July 9 the movers return to unpack for us and we clean and hand over our current house.

You’d think no one in the world but me had ever moved, wouldn’t you, the way I’m carrying on? Sorry, can’t help it. This is my moving experience, and this is my blog.

19 days. 19 days.

Still Daddy's Girl

Happy Father's Day from your Pussycat!

Going...going...GONE!

We sold our house!!!!!

Strangers Keep Wandering Through My House

It is Sunday afternoon, and I’m just sitting here at my computer passing the time until we must vacate for today’s open house. We did a good buff-up of the house this morning but it didn’t take long as we’ve been keeping it up very well all week. (There’s a concept! Keeping the house clean all the time!)

We’ve had some interest this week in a couple of private viewings and a reasonably well-attended agent’s open. There’s already been one building inspection conducted by a potential buyer. We are not accepting offers until tomorrow, so as not to exclude any interested parties who might attend our first general open house today. But we are feeling cautiously optimistic that we won’t be in this state of discombobulation and unnatural cleanliness for long.