Our home of twelve years, in the town in which we have lived since the Eagles released Heartache Tonight, is going on the market. And we are, for the time being, replacing it with a 40 foot motorhome. This is something we've researched and thought about for a quite a while as you already know, if you've followed this blog.
There are, of course, plenty of unknowns:
Will our house sell?
Where will we go?
Will I ever gain the confidence to drive a bus the size of Detroit?
Will our marriage survive shrinking to 350 square feet?
Will I learn to use a convection oven?
Will the GOP ever regain the White House?
This is downsizing with a vengeance. The pool table and two bikes are sold. Miscellaneous other stuff .... gone. Goodwill is scoring big time with our discards. My wardrobe will go from occupying most of a large walk-in closet and dresser to about four feet of closet space and three drawers. And, sadly, Craigslist produced some buyers for our dear little trailer, who promised to love it as we did.
We have spent our forty years of marital life living according to The Rules. We have literally defined Establishment. We have reared four fabulous society-contributing kids (our greatest legacy); built, bought, and sold several homes; tamed acreage; started and ran a successful business providing many jobs and livelihoods; paid enough taxes to support every government worker and program on the continent (it seems); and contributed to the spiritual and physical welfare of generations. So although certain responsibilities and obligations never cease, as soon as life's details are tied up, handed off, and/or stored away, we will take a brief hiatus to see what this land has to offer. Together. Husband and me .... and the motorcycle.... somehow .... 'cause it's NOT going on Craigslist.
And you -- 'cause you're all invited along, via this blog.