I teach people about change all the time, yet fail to remember the impact until it slams into MY gut.
We are leaving our country home of eight years. It is a home that is beautiful, tranquil, and one about which I’ve complained. The complaints were fairly petty, like the fact that I had never lived so far away from civilization that a pizza couldn’t be delivered.
What was I supposed to do? Cook?
My husband and I are witty but not handy, and somehow fixing things on five acres wasn’t helped by Oscar Wilde quotes. Being in the country was a little beyond us.
So, we are leaving. . .
But last night, I crested the hill into our neighborhood that reveals horse farms and fields and tree tops. As I looked over that crest, something hit me and I realized it was the same feeling I’ve had when watching movies like “The Wizard of Oz” and “E.T.” I was already feeling homesick.
While in this house, our dog grew older and less spazzy, while my daughter graduated from High School, went to college, and on to New York to be a writer. My son got a job and cheered with us during Redskins games and smashed his fist into the refrigerator after a big loss. There are still five knuckle marks on that refrigerator that we’re handing off to someone else.
My husband and I spent hours on our deck watching the beauty found in unpopulated areas. We watched spectacular Red-headed Woodpeckers, beautiful hummingbirds, bright red cardinals and a multitude of goldfinches as they frolicked in our backyard.
We had a fox visit a few times with her two pups in broad daylight, making us both smile and worry that she might be a little rabid.
But not everything was perfect. . . .
I remember the day I sat on the deck reading a book about “The Conjuring,” when a bird flew into my hair and died. I threw the book away immediately.
Then there was the day that I watched a dove peacefully eating our birdseed placed lovingly on the ground, when a hawk silently descended and took the dove away. I felt like we set her up for a hit.
We also found out about my husband’s cancer at this house, and I had three tick bites that required megadoses of antibiotics, and my husband ran over our cat.
But I’m leaving, so it is with rose-colored glasses that I look back. Because sometimes a little grieving is good for the soul.
So I’ll cry a little more to shake loose my fears, and then we’re off to a new adventure only a few miles away. And there we will make more great memories, because in life we generally find what we’re looking for.
Except for the dove. I’m not sure she was looking for what found her.
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