I’m moving. Again. I’ve moved about fifteen times in my adult life. Every time I said it would be the last time. It wasn’t.
There’s something about moving. It creates change. It creates… huge… change. Nothing will ever go together exactly the way it did in the last house. Pictures from the living room will find themselves in the bathroom. Truly… I have a painting that has been in every room in one house or the other except the kitchen. Its favorite place is in the bedroom… but I wonder where it will hangout this time? I wonder which wall will pull out its colors in a unique way… creating a beauty that I’ve never noticed?
I love decorating a new space… taking each of my treasures from houses past… and one-by-one asking them where they now belong. And… asking the house what it desires. My next house… and I will not say my last… is asking for white walls… and… rugs. I’m not sure that it understands how much I love beachy pastels and bare wood floors… but I do know that it will have many white walls… and at least a couple of rugs… my vacuum will be so happy.
Of course… Bertha… comes flitting by as I am packing books… which seem always eager to move… and are the first to jump in the boxes. Anyway… Bertha… says it all reminds her of my life. She says that while my talents and attributes… like my favorite artwork… essentially remain the same throughout my life… that it’s always good to shuffle them around and see what I can create when I put them back together.
I know what she means… I wonder how this move… this new adventure… this huge change… will pull out my personal colors in a unique way… creating a beauty that I’ve never noticed? I get the sense that I may end up hanging in a white bathroom with lots of rugs… and that sounds just fine!
How does it get any better than this?