Moving
Day from McDougall St
April
24, 1987
An Addendum to the
last journal sent …
So I am sitting in the sun, on the porch, at
empty McDougall St. waiting for the trash man to come. I have dusted the staircase for the last time
– the oak panels, the newel posts with the carved oak urns. It is a strange feeling – numb – because if I
let myself really feel I will sit here howling like a banshee. At 11 AM this morning the title to the house
passed out of my hands. I will be
relieved when it is done. Then I can
concentrate on Carol Court as our home.
The old lilac trees are sprouting their
leaves. Spring was always the time when
this old place felt young again. I used
to go upstairs and open the south windows, and take deep breaths of the
lilacs. We always brought them with us
transplanted from 235 Pim to 116 Church St to here. There were four, but two died, and the two
remaining have been so battered by the ice falling three floors from the roof,
that they are at about a 40° angle across the side lawn. The house is so quiet – so quiet. I must not think.
The daffodils are in bloom, and the
jonquils, and the early tulips. An early
spring, this year, so I was able to enjoy the Scylla, and the English violets.
At that point, three trucks pulled up,
and began disgorge people and furniture.
Just as well, memories can be overwhelming. But the furniture coming in was old style,
beautiful wood, and the house will like it, and the family too!
Now Wilf and I are meeting in the mall
for a muffin.
For every ending there is a beginning!
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