But wait. I have movers coming this Wednesday. Can’t they do the hauling and transporting? Fact is, they’re paid by the hour, so that I can keep costs down by moving all but the biggest pieces ourselves.
We make two trips from the condo to the farmhouse, each time looking terribly like country hillbillies – insofar as that word denotes people moving from one place to another with an open truck that looks like it's seen too much life and is ready to offload some baggage on the way to wherever.
(and then one more time)
Loading the truck. Unloading it. Stopping off at Home Depot for spray paint (for me to use on the large LR vents). Then, hauling books from the basement to the upper floors. Back-breaking work.
But let me not suggest that it was too hard, or too insufferable and unpleasant. For example, I remember catching the late light in the second farmhouse bedroom (hereafter called the lemon room, can you guess why?).
The world seemed like such a calm and mellow place there.
Then, too, consider the task of painting the living room heating grates. I want to finish this today, as twice this afternoon I stumbled on the open hole that needs a grill and I have a nice set of bruises to show for it.
The finished pieces look good! So much of what I thought would never look good here could, in the end, be repaired, refreshed and finished to a shiny new image.
Who would have thought that I would find this place so incredibly attractive!
And suddenly it’s evening. Time to quit for the day. As best as I remember, it was a beautiful spring close to a week-end. The crab apple is set to explode against the backdrop of an already bursting willow. Such beautiful sights. Quickly noticed, permanently recorded.
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