The Cosmos has been blown over by the wind and rain. I took this picture when I came back from the new house tonight. I have been taking boxes and more boxes loaded with my belongings over there for the last several days. The more I remove from the house, the more there seems to be left to move. My goal is to get everything but the furniture in place before the movers come on Thursday. Theoretically that insures a smooth transition without a lot of unpacking to do. The cupboards are already filled with my dishes. My small appliances are on shelves in the shed pantry. My biggest bookcase is in its place with most of the books on it. Almost everything in my studio is already moved. The boxes of memorabelia that continue to be something I can't do without are in yet another closet.
For awhile I felt nothing about leaving this house on Wilson St., but as the time draws nearer I am beginning to feel nostalgia creeping over me. This is to be expected. The place is tied to Phyllis, and Lisa and Will, and the kindness they have extended to me. Phyllis' generosity is the reason I had a place to move into when I lost my last house and failed to get a loan to buy this one. Will and Lisa cheerfully accepted the loss of the income they had expected from its sale. It's their part in my being here that makes me feel teary, not the place itself. I am anxious to be back in my old house on Water Street. I feel very much at home there, as if I am going back where I belong. It is where I began my life as a resident of Eastport and fell in love with it. As I walk around now putting things in their places, I feel at home. The ten years since I lived there almost melt away, but the house is better, and so am I.