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And so we are moved, II

We cleaned the old apt. on Saturday and handed over the keys on Sunday. I felt less nostalgia than I thought I would for a place that I had lived in for longer than any other actual address. I remember being quite devastated to leave, as a child, the house where I had lived perhaps six years, from VietNam to about third or fourth grade, but then years are so much longer when you are a child and the nature of our going more traumatic.

For all my being moved, I have actually had to pack up a house only twice--same as my husband who lived in his childhood home until 10 years ago. I would do it differently next time--in some ways the fact we had a week after the moving vans came sabotaged us (my husband more than me). But all in all as (mentally) painless as could be hoped. Physically is another matter. Walking down the stairs in the morning is a bit of a shock to the knees.

A new place, a bigger place, and a two story place has led to a Zen like deliberateness in every day actions (which will, I am sure, fade in time). Where I must focus on turning on the bathroom light at the door which is some 8 feet away rather than 2. To remember to take things downstairs with me, like last night's water glass, and other things up, lest we descend into a mess. Taking a bath is more of a ritual in the claw foot tub. The small table I bought over the weekend, which is loaded with soap and shampoo, things which used to rest on the edge of the tub, must now be moved into place and back again at every bath time. Small and irrelevant things, but interesting to have to think about them.

Guinness--is happy--a longer place to run and more places to hide in keep away, and his dog mind sees home as anywhere we and our smells are. Mephisto is less happy, but he had been growing disgruntled in the old place as well. He is 17. The stairs will be hard on him, and he too seems to be doing things with more caution.

I am, as always, fighting not to let past and future worries rob present happiness. There is always the mental "shoulda's." Shoulda moved sooner, shoulda gotten the better paying job so we could have, shoulda cleaned better, packed better, etc. Shoulda been perfect...

I had resolved to not bring dust and dirt from the old place, to label boxes perfectly, etc. That lasted for about 20 boxes, and then it was simply stuff it in a box, and worry about it later--which is now. Of course, no amount of pre-cleaning could have kept out the tracking of sand. A hazard of moving in winter. So once we are more unpacked I will have to thoroughly clean here.

Our lives are already better here. It seems suited to us and the improvements in our lives make up (easily) for the extra cost. In some strange way it is as if we have always been here. Other things, like turning from the sink to the stove seem almost like deja-vu in their naturalness. The silence is really golden. The safe feeling of the street, and yet the knowledge that the T to Boston is a few blocks away, the center of town walkable. In the cold, still night air the rumble of the train is just audible, but only outside.

We are where we are and we have gotten here through all of the steps that have brought us here. No more, no less. That is a lesson I have to relearn, it seems, every day.

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