The Move

I hate moving. I say that because I know most of you just love it, and I don't want you to think this is a joyful tale I'm about to relate. No, I hate moving, as we all do, but there seemed little point in delaying it since much of the pain lies in the anticipation. So let's move! Felix, please clean the new place up!

Talia, let's pack up the old one!

Gideon, go away!  (No picture, but that, all agree, was the key to a successful move. Thanks again Y&E!)

And me? I do more than my fair share of fretting, am generally unproductive, and then, the day before, spend those carefully reserved hours planning a fence for the new property, it being a bit cliffy in places. That leaves me, the day of, boxing more or less frantically, and here comes the truck....

That's a yawning two garages, one small but surprisingly-rich-in-closet space apartment, and a shed that I could have sworn was pretty much empty but turned out to be pretty much full. The movers, paid by the hour though they were, seemed to find the "oh look, more storage spaces," line less and less amusing as the morning wore on. (Made me feel like my mother, for those who understand.)

In the end, though, there was less space to empty than there was to fill. Witness the garage:

And the barn:



And the wife, carrying the heaviest load of all:

A quick toast at the old place and one last pillaging of the tomato plants:

Then everyone back to the new for a welcome (in every sense) drink and a bit of exploration:

Thanks helpers, one and all, and welcome to our new home!