It is only now dawning on me, weeks after having made the decision, that we are moving again. Moving isn’t that big of a deal to me any more, not really. Since we got married a little over four years ago we have moved a total of eight times. Some of those moves were together, some were not. A few times we moved with only that which we could fit in our faithful Toyota Camery or two airline-approved suitcases. We are pretty used to moving. And I know this wont be the last time- there is something slightly nomadic about my heart that doesn’t mind that for now.

It’s the packing that gets to me. Putting all my things into boxes, not knowing exactly where they are or where they will go.  Thankfully, this move will not be confined to those things that will fit in our car, so they worst part about moving, the purging, will not be a part of the process. Oddly enough, my most dreaded task is packing away my books. A home, even if it is one from which you are moving on, does not feel right without books on the shelves. So here I am, staring at my bookshelves, wondering how long I can put off packing them away before our January First moving date. Probably not much longer with the week of Christmas fast approaching.

A few weeks ago we went to see our friend’s house here on the island. A lovely little two bedroom home on their farm that they are willing to rent to us for a while. There are a lot of things about moving that I am looking forward to: farm views, space of our own, cooking again in my own kitchen, and quiet. There is also this lovely little incentive of falling asleep in our brand new bed- our first big purchase together. I think Gary will be happy to be in his own space again too. The time is right and if all I need to do is get through the packing to make it work… agreed.