In moving, there comes a strange moment when you can’t remember which house you’re in, what you would see if you looked out the window, and where you would be if you stepped outside. . .
And then you realize you’re not actually in Gervais, you’re in Newberg, and you still have half a day of packing staring you in the face. But you smile anyway and reach for another fistful of Lucky Charms and another wrinkled sheet of wrapping paper, and you pull yet another mug from the cupboard and put it in yet another box and are so grateful that you have a husband and that he has brothers and that they are the ones who will carry all these heavy boxes out of your pretty little house for the last time.
I like moving. ...continue reading
I should be packing. Or cleaning. Or at least trying to decide if dark green would really be a better feature wall color than the blue we picked out (we settled on the blue). But instead I am looking through old pictures and thinking of sweet days in the "honeymoon hut" we are about to leave.
I'm thrilled to be moving. God gave us this house, and now He's given us another house, and we are so grateful. But Newberg's been too good to us to not feel at least a twinge about leaving.
We've loved living here. The landlords are great, the neighborhood is quiet, and the coffee shops are numerous. Safeway and Fred Meyer (and maybe most importantly, McDonald's) are just down the road, and those places are important to satisfy our rampant watermelon and ice cream cravings. 🙂 Plus, our cute little house is now jam-packed full of memories, from before we were married to now.
Yes, I'll miss Newberg. ...continue reading