I'm beginning to appreciate the beauty of a six-month move. Most people, I think, tend to spend the second day post-move lugging, grunting, and unpacking like a fiend. Yesterday evening involved cooking for the first time in the new place, a twilight stroll with Diesel, and a bottle of champagne. We capped off the festivities by hauling two dressers out of the truck and up to our bedroom (because well, we had to do something productive).
Moving has been slow, and (dare I say it?) even relaxed. Saturday, I was expecting to confront this Big Dramatic Pile of boxes-- we've stored much of our books, decor, and other non-essentials in the garage all winter-- and instead ended up with oh, maybe fifteen in a tidy little heap. I unpacked six or seven into the bookcase. I sighed. That was it. No chaos. No drama.
I focused on the Great Room. I'd bought a big old rug for it months ago (had also been sitting in the garage all winter) and couldn't wait to roll that puppy out. Then I hung curtains. Ahhh.
The move is far from done, but we're content with keeping this leisurely pace. Every evening, Patrick will bring some more goodies from the old house (since he's commuting there for work anyhow), and each day things will get more organized and more established here. My main desire right now is a cutting board-- I diced onions last night on top of a flipped-over baking dish-- but hey, it's times like these that make you appreciate the little things. Cutting boards. Cheese graters.
Twilight strolls, too.