It seems like I haven’t written for an age… it’s only been a week but in that time our life has
been deconstructed, driven down the A303 and A30 and reconstructed in a different guise.
Where to begin?
Let’s start with The Lasts. We spent last weekend doing our lasts… last Friday night in the pub (which you already know… thank you for all those who reached out to me – it meant a lot.), last fire pit on our deck, last night at the house.. all of them tinged with sadness but none of them really sinking in as I think I was in total denial of moving even then (even now). It’s all happened SO quickly. We only made the definitive decision to move towards the end of February and here we are, in May, done and dusted and living in Cornwall.
Last week was a bit of a blur. Mainly because I spent most of it in tears. I cried as soon as anyone mentioned the move and my closest friends thought it was hilarious which actually made it all a lot easier as I would end up chortling along as well. It's a strange feeling to be crying and laughing at the same time.. one I recommend.
The removal team arrived on Wednesday and flew through the house like a bunch of
locusts’. There were times when I just had to leave and get out of the house. Seeing them
pack up our possessions was hard to reconcile with what we were leaving. To them it was
just a bunch of stuff to move, to us it was our memories and prized possessions.
After the removals had left and Oli departed for our new pad I got to grips with cleaning the old girl out one last time.. although judging by the state of some of the rooms it was probably the first time as well as the last. I found graffiti that I'd painted behind a sideboard and massive gaps where I'd painted around furniture.. attention to detail has never been my strong point.. especially when it comes to decorating.
However, in a turbulent week, I had an amazing island of constant, which sustained me like a lifeboat on rough sea. Whilst the house was empty and before I made my way down west, I stayed at my parents just a short 8 mile trip from our ‘old’ house. My parents are fabulous. I am so proud of them both. They are 82 and 83 years old. I was about to describe them as ‘active’ and ‘healthy’.. but that is so patronising!
They are the most amazing couple ever. My Dad plays golf, cooks, gardens, takes part in
multiple groups (all of the private gentleman sort, like book club, cooking club, etc). My
Mum is quite incredible and inspirational. She is founder Trustee of an amazing charity that
she started in the 80’s and for which she has been awarded an MBE. She also loves spending time with Dad and it was lovely to see how they share their time whilst I was there. Doing the crossword together, playing bridge.. I am lucky that I am in my 50’s and still have great times with them. Not something that passes me by.
A week on, I’m stronger. All of our lovely prized possessions have moved and are all
around us. Reminding us of a life well lived and of friends that we have made. This is my forth day in Cornwall and this morning, for the first time, I felt like I had a small amount of control back in my life. I could choose what to wear and what to eat which when moving is not always possible. You just chuck on whatever is to hand and eat whatever is left or whatever is available. And so we begin our week of Firsts. Our first bottle of Champagne on the beach (as residents), our first cup of tea in our house (more on that in the next post), the first pint of Korev in the pub, the first mow of the lawn. Everything is slowly beginning to settle and that is a lovely feeling. It's going to be OK... I know that now.
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