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Dusty Crates and Loud Crashes

All's Change

With the herald of season's end,
all's change.

It feels good to stop
swimming against raging currents.

I said to the Dragon,
"Ok, I give in -
if this tide's reason
is to block my path
then show me another way."

And so it was done.

Breezes shiver gold-tinged leaves
in a barren apple tree -
time now to journey on
through different waters.


There are big changes coming to our household; selling this house and planning to move on is only one of the two big changes about to unfold.  We're not quite ready to make public the other big change just yet, not until a few details have been finalised which could take a couple of weeks, maybe a little longer.

Life's a funny old thing, hmm?  You potter along in a set way, thinking this is how life's going to be for the foreseeable future - then WALLOP!  All's change.

Change can be for good or ill, as we all know.  It depends on context.  In this instance, Richard and I are feeling really good about the new cycle of life that's just around the corner.

Re. the house selling - we've had a number of people come to view our house, but no offers so far.  Two more couples are booked in this weekend.  Some viewers were obviously time-wasters but I guess we'll have to take that in our stride.  One didn't even have their own house up for sale, so it seems they just wanted to be nosey.  Another couple took one look at our garden and their reaction of shock told us that gardening wasn't an interest of theirs - so why bother to view a house described as having a large garden?  The house has only been on the market for two and a half weeks, so it's very early days yet.

Last weekend, Richard got our old packing crates down from the attic.  Our neighbours must have wondered what on earth was going on, as the din of umpteen heavy plastic crates bumping down the loft ladder to crash onto the upstairs hall's floorboards should have been enough to disturb even Karis the Mummy's sleep without a waft of tana leaves.

The crates are a bit grimy, having been stored in the attic for the last fourteen years.  We've managed to find time to wash half of them so far.  There's no rush.  Or much space, actually, which is why we're doing this on the patio outside rather than drench the spare bedroom floor.  The crates can drip-dry to their hearts content out there.

In our hallway, downstairs, is a growing pile of old newspapers - also known as useful packing material.  Richard's packed a shelf of books and I've carefully wrapped up some of my dolls' house furnishings, but that's all we've done so far.  Once the crates are all washed I'll begin packing non-essential stuff like vases and fancy stuff (some of which might as well go to the nearest charity shop for all the use it is!)  Again, there's no rush.

Why do we collect so much stuff?  We don't actually need one half of it.  Stuff invades our lives and becomes precious even when it's really only junk.
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