I'm standing at the kitchen counter, one foot on Mr Darcy's lead. Our house is packed up and being crammed into a very large truck to be unloaded 1/2 mile away this afternoon. It's very odd standing in a boxed up house isn't it? You can't do anything really. Mr D isn't very impressed as he can see open streets and would much rather be running free than be tethered to my foot.
Packing our things over the last two days we have been ruthless. Only lovely things are coming - special things, the stuff that makes you happy - for me this mostly means handmade and usually, but not always, old.
Even F has caught the bug at 11. The pink plastic got turfed, in fact all the plastic got turfed. Bags were handed over - 'I don't want this stuff Cass'. I said nothing.......
So when we move, it's another chance to get closer and closer to my 'handmade' ideal of home and that is pretty exciting.
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