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I am packing. It is giving me a headache.

While the big move doesn’t happen until September, I still have the requisite “your continent or mine” visit this week. As you know, my brilliant plan is to move my belongings in increments as checked luggage. I think spending $150 for 3 checked bags now, and again in September, will be a cheaper and easier solution than trying to post that same amount of stuff. I only failed to account for one very important detail.


Bringing half now and half then requires that I have some idea of what is ultimately going and what is staying behind. It requires that I have a plan, that I have thought this out. Since I haven’t, and it appears I really don’t want to (hence the desire to run screaming down the street), I’m going to focus on winter items. (and yes, I know winter items here are actually year-round items in Ireland, but pretending there is a difference helps me, so let’s go with it)

I’ve gone through my sweaters and long sleeved tops. I have a pile for packing and a pile for the charity shop. I’ve done the same thing with my jeans and heavy skirts. While I was in that section of the closet I included costume items (actors tend to accumulate these things). Some are being stored and some are going to the charity shop. I don’t think any are being packed. Jackets, coats and shoes remain to be sorted. I find that I have a mental block when it comes to books and non-clothing personal items. I know there are some reference materials I will want, and probably need. I also know I will want a few small decorative items, including framed photos, so the house feels like mine. But what those are, I haven’t a clue!

Now, back to it. The UEFA Champions League Final is over (Inter won – woohoo) and I have no more excuses for procrastination.

Oh, MY!


…a hunting we will go!

House hunting in-absentia is sort of fun, at least for me. It is true that I miss the opportunity to walk through the place, imagining bits and pieces of ordinary life happening in each room. But I knew when he was driving over, knew when he met the estate agent, knew he was walking through the rooms and into the garden. I could imagine it all. And it delighted me to imagine it. Afterward, I waited impatiently for him to email pictures and describe the neighborhood and the layout of the house.

He has only looked at one so far. And what do you think I did? Like a silly, romantic girl I’ve fallen madly in love with it. I’ve already dreamt about living in it. I have whiled away hours at work decorating the place in my head. We may not get it, but oh how I adore it. The beaten up floor-boards of it and the over-grown garden of it seem the epitome of the bohemian life. It whispers to my soul of better days, and a decadent decay that my Southern roots cherish. The notion of living with my beloved in such romanticism fills me with joy. And if this country girl must live in the city, it is just the sort of house I dream of. And here it is, the place of dreams….

The House

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