Our moving date has been put back a month because one of the links in the chain is having a struggle to get everything done in time.
It’s been a very long since we moved house and the last time we did it, we bought a piece of land and built our own, which means I had completely forgotten the frustrations. How slow it is.
There are other things, too. Weird questions keep popping up. Do we live near a church, for instance. I’ve never come across that one before, but apparently some poor souls inherited a house and found themselves with a vast bill for repairing the nave of the local church.
Does anyone have rights to the trees, or the wildlife? And don’t ask me about radon gas.
I’m doing my best to remain calm under pressure and be grateful that I have time to enjoy, this one last time, the azaleas and rhododendrons that we’ve planted. The shrubs that we’ve seen from twigs to six foot monsters, the clematis that scrambles over the old oak tree. The bluebells that were a serendipitous extra that came with some topsoil we bought years ago. One last time to enjoy the clean, fresh leaves of a hosta that has travelled with us over four moves.
It’s too big, too established, too comfortable to shift again and I’ll be leaving it behind, along with a note for the new owners to mulch it with coffee grounds to keep the slugs from turning it into lace.