Home at last

Wednesday September 6, 2006

Do you know, it was the last thing I expected, but I’ve had a really great day.

Moving house or, to be more accurate, moving into a new house, is supposed to be traumatic. Well, it wasn’t. Exhausting, yes, of course, but traumatic? Not a bit of it.

We had a great day, working together as a team, getting the job done, keeping Dolly safe and, so far as possible, happy and stress free. And when the removal guys had gone, we settled down to the first pass of the unpacking, getting the kitchen free, and the bedroom set up for an afternoon nap. Which followed shortly.

When we woke, Dolly continued her explorations and we started in on the unpacking of essentials. My first priority was to get the kitchen stuff unpacked and stowed away into cupboards, trying to organize as I went or, at least, to begin the job of kitchen organization. Graham did some unpacking, too, but his main job was to get the boxes redistributed around the house and into the rooms where they will need to be unpacked. I got the kitchen more or less under control, enough to slap a dinner together, anyway, and Graham got the study clear and the bedrooms sorted, too.

A mountain of packing tissue and wrapping paper was stuffed into a couple of boxes ready for recycling, and we created a half-box of unwanted china and glass of the junk kind that you can’t throw away. Except that, this time, we are going to take that down to the recycling centre, too. Isn’t that a good start?

We ran out of steam as it grew dark.

“Do you know what I’d like to do now?” I asked.

“What’s that, then?”

“Go sit in the garden for a half hour before dinner.”

“Good idea. Excellent idea. I just happen to have discovered a bottle of Jacob’s Creek a while back and stuck it in the freezer to chill. How would you fancy that?”

“Oh, I’d really like that. Except that we’re supposed to be having that bottle of champagne with our dinner.”

“It can wait. I’d rather have chardonnay.”

“Yup. You’re right. We’ll save the Mumm for some future celebration.”

So we sat outside with a candle burning, a nicely chilled bottle of a rather good plonk becoming steadily emptier and emptier, and chatted quietly away as the dusk turned to darkness. There were a few lighted windows to be seen over the fence but all was quiet and peaceful and we could have been anywhere of a late summer evening, rural or urban.

But we’re not anywhere. We’re here. Home at last.


Home at last



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