A moving story.

The move commences! We've successfully acquired our third (hopefully not for too much longer) mortgage, a relatively painless process at least until the first payment comes due in December. We met the lovely seller on Thursday, and she passed on a bit of the house's lore. She seemed pleased to be handing her home to us, satisfied we would love and care for it as she has, and she left us with many small items that help the place feel a bit like home already.

We are the fourth owners of this house, and the two before our seller were related. At our closing, the receptionist at the title company came bursting into our closing room, bubbling over with excitement to tell us that her husband had grown up in our house. His parents had lived there for 25 years, and then either he or his brother (I was confused as to which) had owned it for a few years before selling it in 1989 to the woman from whom we bought it yesterday. So now we know where to go to learn about all the hidden water sources and secret passageways the house conceals.

Last night was the last for me in the carriage house. I lay in bed staring through the skylight into the darkness, feeling a mix of panic, delight, and anticipation. But for the moment, I don't have time to process these emotions. For there is stuff to sort and toss and schlep and boxes galore to pack and load and take . . . HOME!