And just like that….

 ….we’re moving… to another house in a different town. My husband made the decision just this past Christmas and we started looking at houses on New Year’s Eve. I started packing boxes on New Year’s Day. Just like that. We have not yet found a house that we both like, but I am still packing. I’ve had five yard sales for the things that I know we will not be taking with us… we are looking for a smaller house, one without a guest cottage and a barn and so many acres.

My husband decided that the two-hour drive to Houston was one-hour too much now, and he is not ready to give up teaching and retire. He also came to the conclusion that living in a 116-year-old three-story home is a life-long commitment to never-ending maintenance. 

I have already said my goodbyes to this big old house that I fell in love with at first sight. I couldn’t wait to get here and decorate this fabulous adult-sized dollhouse. Original stained-glass and leaded-glass windows, original floors with Art Deco designs on the stair landings and in the dining room and living room. The back staircase from the kitchen… and the stairs going up to my third-floor library. It was all so magical, and so much like the house I grew up in when I was a kid. We filled this home with antiques from my husband’s mother and my grandmother, and treasures we found along the way. And I did truly love this home. Once upon a time, before I realized that the neighbor who raises baby goats uses them for lunch and dinner, and those tiny goats cry like a human baby as they are caught and slaughtered. And every sound can be heard from my porch. You would think that 23 acres would muffle the sounds of the goats but the distance only amplifies them. I have not sat on the porch in over ten years. Ditto for the gazebo.

I also said goodbye to this house after my sister passed away. I had dreams of her coming here so I could show her what life was like in the beginning. She was too young to know our lives before we left our big house in Queens and moved to that little apartment. I wanted her to know. I wanted her to understand. But after she was gone, it didn’t matter. Neither did anything else, most of the time. I would give anything to change what happened. I would even stay here, right here in this dollhouse, to have her back.

So. We look at house listings all week long, and drive to see the best of them on the weekends. The homes I love are not the ones my husband loves. The houses he loves are not the ones where I want to spend the rest of my years. We want this to be our last move, so we are being cautious. I don’t want to move again. We keep saying that the next home will be our last.

The living room, foyer, and dining room are filled with packed and labeled boxes. This week, I start on the second floor. My library will be packed last. We don’t know exactly where we are moving, but when we find the right home, I will be ready. So ready. And I will not look back once we’re gone.