Moving from one area to another there are inevitably goodbyes to be said but what about the actual house. No doubt Hubby is pleased to say goodbye to the fence which has limped through the last winter being held together by not much more than his willpower.
For me it was a strange feeling yesterday sitting with most of our belongings in boxes, the odd nail here and there sticking out of the wall where a picture should have been.
I don’t have any huge bad memories from the old house, little ones here and there yes, but the bad memories in general fade quicker than good ones, I think it’s because I hold the good ones for longer when they reappear.
Today I said my final goodbyes to our home for the last eighteen years. I said goodbye to the orange curtains, one of which still has the hem held up with pins because I never did get around to stitching it. I said goodbye to the kitchen, my biggest D.I.Y project ever. Whatever possessed me when I decided to move the units from one end to the other I don’t know, but I enjoyed doing it.
One of the strangest goodbyes this morning was to the “littlest room” of the house.
I remember while at the dentist I used to sit in the chair looking up at the ceiling and trying to think of something, anything, other than the activity inside my mouth. I eventually made friends with a series of swirls on the ceiling which gave itself very well to a pixie-like face, a little like one of the Snap, Crackle and Pop characters on a certain box of cereal.
Well it wasn’t the ceiling which shared its character with me in the “little room” it was the floor. My first friend was like a Disney character from Snow White and the seven dwarfs. He has a big round nose sitting on top of fluffy white facial hair. Some days he wasn’t there, and yet on other days he was, as plain as the nose on his face. I used to think about which one of the seven dwarfs he was. Happy ? Sneezy ? Sleepy ? But then it came to me, Bashful ! Of course it would have to be Bashful, he never once looked me straight in the eye and very politely pinned his gaze to the wall.
The second of the flooring’s characters was nowhere as polite. He seemed to have stepped straight out of a western on tv. His hat was perched on his head and he had a fat cigar in his mouth. I imagine his hands would be poised next to his guns ready to draw them at a second’s notice.
If I should catch his eyes while inconvenienced I would hold his gaze, so that his small dark eyes stared into mine until I left the little room.