*Awesome picture courtesy of good friend, Shane Norton. Thanks, Shane!
We wasted no time after our dinner with friends at Shabbu Shabbu Paradise on Friday night. Arriving home around 9:30, we immediately tore into my closet filled with clothes. Each item was quickly assessed and categorized for its new destination: garbage, goodwill, storage, or boat. "Thank you for your good service, shirt!" I said each time a pang of sadness hit. By midnight, the closet was empty.
Saturday, Sunday and Monday were all much the same. 2190 square feet of clutter to deal with. 10 garbage cans; 10 sacks taken to goodwill; and every last inch of space in the car filled with our remaining worldly possessions. In the midst of all this, I redesigned our wall hangings so our tenant doesn't have to look at my wedding photographs, we hosted friends for a French Toast and Mimosa Brunch, went to dinner with our Cruising Mentors, had breakfast at Hash House A Go Go with more friends, delivered our house plants (Zami, Anaconda and Spike) to my right hand woman and her green thumb of a husband for safe keeping, attended a Super Bowl party and gave our new tenant the full walk through.
By the time everything was packed up and clean, the house looked peaceful. All the warm feelings built over a decade of living happily in this home remained, but the weight of clutter was gone. I took one last walk through each room of the house, and I made sure to note the fading sunlight peeking through the slats of our blinds. I took a loop through the backyard garden, noting all my favorite yard plants. I played two songs on my piano, Ella, and said a fond "catch you later". I tried to record her clear tone and heavy touch in my memory, so beautiful. This made me cry.
Andrew gave me a hug, "hold it together just a little longer, Little Buddy." And, it was time to go. We really couldn't linger any longer, or it would just get ridiculous. Osmond and I got into the over loaded car. After forgetting and retrieving four or five things, Andrew finally found his spot in the passenger seat, resigned to riding five hours buried under several bags of refrigerator food. I pull into reverse, but realize we couldn't put the garage down if we left the tenant the garage clicker on the kitchen table. I scurried out of the driver seat, punched in the garage code, and returned.
Like a herd of turtles, we are. Time to go. We are leaving Las Vegas. Leaving it all behind.