Our minds were made up: we were moving. To be clear, the concept was much easier said than done. There was the little matter of clearing out four levels of the house we'd lived in for more than 30 years -- especially if we were lucky enough to buy the perfect single-level home.
By March, we were actively searching for a new home, working closely with a Cincinnati realtor. I was glued most days to home sale websites, showing my husband the ones I thought we'd like. Our realtor was texting possibilities and we began to schedule viewings. (That's a a challenge for another blog post.)
As children of parents who'd lived through the Great Depression and the only children of our collective siblings who'd stayed in the same town as our parents, we had acquired a lot of their stuff -- a lot of antique furniture and collectibles (and some not-so-collectibles.) In addition, our two daughters each had things stored in various parts of the house -- mostly gathering dust in the attic. Granted, one of them had already taken much of her stuff. We spent one FaceTime conversation with the other daughter, viewing her stash while she decided what to keep.
In between, we unloaded collections we'd once treasured, books, dishes, excess fabric and sewing items, a bed frame and mattress. A friend who has a "hobby" of selling scrap metal happily picked up things we couldn't sell and burned some scrap wood on his farm.
There were moments when we wondered if we were insane or if we'd miss something but promised to always back up each other's decisions. We vowed not to buy anything new until we'd moved.
Our daughters called regularly, anxiously hoping we weren't selling any of their stuff. We assured them we weren't going to do that but in the end, the eldest came to help us move (I think she wanted to be sure she got the rest of her treasures.) We boxed up the rest of the attic -- some books, the youngest's collections, toys, family photos, labeled everything and left the boxes in the attic for the movers.
By this time, people were getting suspicious and asking questions. We'd only told our siblings and a few close friends and neighbors. Living in a small town though, news got around quickly once our realtor posted a For Sale sign in the front yard.
Reactions were mixed but for the most part, people were supportive and a few even envious. My four older brothers cheered the decision, saying "good for you!"
The hardest part for me was confirming our decision with my forever running partner and closest friend, even though she'd known long before anyone else what I was dreaming about. Thinking and talking about it together was one thing; actually doing it was another...you can't downsize friends. The one thing that kept us both from falling apart was reminding each other that her little sister lives in Cincinnati so we knew there would opportunities to see each other.
Telling our group of friends (two other couples) wasn't easy, either. These were friends from college who lived in town; one of them and I had grown up together and were more like brother and sister. We'd been meeting once a month for dinner at our homes, but we decided this time we'd eat at a local restaurant so we could just concentrate on each other. What I learned from celebrating friend connections is that you can't downsize friendships.
Every night we'd assure each other that we were doing the right thing. And mostly we believed that.
And so..."do something" was getting real.
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