Here we are …
Here we are? Sure, give or take a surge of blood pressure
Stress comes when you resist the urge to apply blunt-force to uncaring people.
In my case, the folks who sold us our house. I mean, we know it needs work … but, after reassurances from the sellers, we half-believed the place would be move-innable. It wasn’t.
Cupar and Crail
With our complete house packed, we had to divert everything to storage and start a major clean up. We lived in two separate locations with overnight bags for a couple of weeks. You don’t get everything lined up for a move then expect to need more smalls, socks and toiletries.
Stressful—up to a point—then there’s the love
I’m told moving is stressful. The researchers who proved it were right. Tina Turner sang What’s love got to do with it?. A lot actually. Our family came out of the woodwork. Since we got here we’ve had buckets of support. Our local trades-people are truly helpful heroes.
The word is you can never get a professional helper in a month of Sundays. Well, they got that wrong in our new village, Colinsburgh. I saw the local painter washing his car, we chatted, he fitted us in and gave us tips for our decorating.
My local carpenter came over and helped, no problem. He said “anytime” for a neighbour. I think the heating-engineer has something to live up to (he’s on my agenda for tomorrow).
Then there’s family
What’s love got to do with it, indeed. People came from far and wide, kids, grandkids, siblings, partners … the walls and humans got covered in paint. Informal picnics in the untidiness. Muscle power built new steps in the garden and put heavy boxes in the attic. Electrical work illuminated winter-dark walls. We tore out ghastly units from the conservatory and sorted the walls in a few days.
Every weekend since we got here was filled with different groups. Bottles of bubbly came and went (Yum).
Cup o’ kindness
Today, I just poured myself a Deacon’s Seat whiskey (no it’s a correct spelling) Americans can’t spell whisky. A present from a wonderful friend in Seattle. That symbolic dram will grow and improve with cask-age, just like all of the people who have shred their energy and love. Thanks folks.
© Mac Logan
4 thoughts on “Here we are …”
LUV the post, that man 🙂
Thanks Jurassic. Just off for breakfast! Great wee place in Elie … and the cat ‘s away :0)
We are in sympathy. Since we’re a bit far to pitch-in in a neighborly manner, we’ll raise our glasses to help relieve your stress in virtual companionship.
Glass raising, a wonderful art. I think you’ll like the place when you sneak over. :0)