Moving On...

Those words have a double meaning in our life these days...

The first is a feeble explanation of our path to finding our way back to "normalcy" without our Chester-boy. Is there an acceptable time for grieving the loss of a furry member of your household? I feel the world readily hands you an empathetic handkerchief for maybe a week or ten days, and then your allotted time for pet-grief is over and you are expected to jump back in the saddle and carry on.

But the hole is still there. Still deep. Still smarting. Our life is not the same. Nor will likely ever be, yet, each day we try to slap on a bandaid and pretend that all is well. Yes, we're so grateful to still have our little Caroline, God bless her, but she is not a dog who connects with you. She's not loyal (if you let her lick you as long as she wants, you shoot instantly to the top of her "favorite persons" list...until the next person lets her lick them with abandon...). She's not really attached to either one of us. Sometimes it seems she's more excited for a stranger walking by our door than she is for us to get home from work. She doesn't sense human emotion. She doesn't really care if she pleases you or not. She isn't a cuddler. She isn't a comforter. She isn't obedient. She's just her own dog, doing her own thing, and at best, she's happy to have a roof and some food each day (I guess?) so she can go back to doing her own thing.

She's cute. She's sweet. She isn't Chester.

So moving on also looks like accepting her for who she is, and not being constantly disappointed in what she's not.

I guess it's getting a little easier? It ebbs and flows.

Strangely, when Chesterberry left us, all my words seemed to just dry up without warning. Somehow the part of my heart that he resided in shut down the epicenter of creativity. And once he was gone, there wasn't anything left that wanted to write, make music, dream, take pictures, arrange flowers, to do anything that usually brings me such daily creative joy and fulfillment.

But now that paralysis is starting to slowly lift. Like a spring thaw, I feel the urge to tap into that part of me again. And it helps me feel so much more like myself. I'm grateful.

The other "moving on" in our life is quite literal. As the time frame to build our new home narrowed to a sliver and then sealed itself away within the constraints of our floft lease, we decided to turn our attentions to existing houses that needed renovation work.

We've looked at a fair few now. Some were snatched right out from under us, others needed more imagination than even I could muster (and I've got quite the healthy imagination! ha!), and some were simply the dreaded word: fine. Oh may I never be accused of settling for something that is "fine" in my life.

There is this one though... She spoke to us the minute we walked through the door. But then our practical friends and advisers (and bank account) started drowning out her voice... Inside she's looking mighty fine for her age: just shy of 100. But outside, she's rather an ugly duckling, with mostly ugly duckling neighbors.
Sure, there are lots of interior concessions too: greenish granite I'm not fond of...three separate entrances to the master bathroom(???)...two doors that lead to nowhere...a gas log fireplace (wood burners unite!!)...a huge front porch that needs to be fully redone...oh, and stairs...did I ever mention that stairs and I are arch enemies?

A Pride and Prejudice quote comes to mind: "But all this would be nothing...if you truly loved him(her)..."

Is she practical? No. Is she pretty? Not outside. Is she tiny? Definitely not. Is she an enormous risk that we might end up hugely regretting? Heck yeah. But in a roundabout way she still manages to tick a lot of the boxes on our list. And beyond all that, remember,

she speaks to us.

So.

We'll see where the next week takes us. We have four other homes to look at on Monday, and then we really should make a decision on this old girl. Unless of course someone else has, before we're through with all our characteristic hemmin' and hawin'...

One foot in front of the other...Right?! We're movin' on.