We moved last week from a house we have lived in for 28 years. Our children grew up there and the place was shrouded in memories. We now have another house to make into a home.
Last week has to be one of the busiest I have known for a long time. Packing and moving then unpacking boxes, trying to find where we had put things and taking care of the cats who were not best pleased with the arrangements.
Now things are becoming straighter, much to the relief of my mild OCD! The house feels like ours now our stuff has been arranged and calm has settled over the cats who are waiting to be introduced to the lovely gardens and surrounding fields. That will be an adventure for them this weekend as they would have stayed in for the required amount of days as recommended by the vets.
My writing appetite is returning. My head has been so full of organising and moving of late that writing the next chapter of my book has been impossible. The Easter deadline is no longer a possibility, so the publisher will have to make do with a revised date for the completed final part of The Torc Trilogy.
In the aftermath of uprooting everything I can honestly say that we have made the right choice. Our house if great, snuggled between the folds of green fields and now village life for us has become a reality.
