That was seven years ago, and once again—our version of the seven-year-itch—we have entered a new stage: the stage of simplifying, of paring down to essentials. But I left room for nostalgia as we packed up our house in the hills, ruminating over photos and letters, and pasting favorites into half-filled albums. Then I began moving furniture around in my dreams. “Will you miss the old place?” a friend asked as she drove me to the condo we had chosen.
“No, I’ve dreamt myself into the new place over the last month. Do you know where I can find a pear tree?”
Yesterday evening I beckoned my tired husband onto a condo terrace freckled with shade from the potted transplants of a few favorite shrubs and flowers I’d brought with us.We sat down with a glass of wine and surveyed the greensward of a golf course below. Clay pointed out a hummingbird sipping nectar from our new pear tree. We both smiled.
Later that night, I watched him relaxing in his club chair, with his nose in a magazine and the unread delights of another dozen publications lapping around his feet. That was when I knew it had been a move well made, this time for us both, and that we were truly home, again.