Time to load up and march off, without looking back. Tom Stoppard: "We burn our bridges behind us, and pretend that the smoke makes our eyes water."
The firefighter's chariot headed north at mid day, carrying donated cooking supplies and the redwood bed frame I built in 1984 for the chariot's owner. The bed returns from service with his nephew and namesake, Sean the Youngest, and will now encourage happy dreams of soot covered helmets and flashing lights for his daughter.
Some things last much longer and accomplish much more than expected, though we slap them together quickly and rush back to work on important stuff. What was it that was so important? Long forgotten.
All of this emptying and moving of furniture is making Cocoa nervous; she glides up like a gentle giant and places her heavy paw on my forearm for reassurance. So I scratch her neck and chest and speak to her in reassuring tones ... but when I stop scratching, she puts her paw back on my arm and looks to me with sad helplessness, begging me to put everything back the way it was.
I understand what she is feeling! This has been a home, a vibrant (and vibrating, thanks to my grandson) frame for growth, for loss, for moments both glorious and sad.
Walking the empty shell of our Delaware home after its sale in 2010, I found it hard to connect with the place where we had lived and struggled for twenty years. It was a time of mourning for me, an afternoon of recalling days that had been swept away forever to make room for tomorrow.
Much that same feeling is flowing though this house today. Boxes, shelves, and the hundreds of things that accumulate over the years are stacked under signs that say "PLEASE PACK" or "DO NOT PACK". Care has been taken to ensure that the camping supplies and the trash cans are in the DO NOT PACK section.
Visitors drop by, and vague promises are made to meet again. We know we never will.
House Wi Fi will be shut down early Monday morning, so my next post will likely be from a coffee shop of opportunity along the road on Wednesday.