I like change. And I like routine. And the combination of the two is what makes life interesting - the comfort and safety of a schedule of habits and familiar moves broken by unexpected bends in the road. But too much of either can be not necessarily a good thing. Too much routine and life becomes dull and uneventful and the appreciation of the small things in life fades with the tedium. Too much change and stress levels rise and I long for the peaceful repetition of remembered things.
And change has been the order of the day in spades recently - some very good and some definitely less so.
The intrepid granny, known for her adventurous holidays, sporting passions (playing and watching) and her love of gin, decided to move house ... after 52 years. Yes, 52 years ago, she bunked me off school - Lord knows what important skills I may have missed on that day - brain surgery perhaps? - and she and I moved from the great Victorian pile in Leamington Spa to a slightly smaller house with a big garden and a paddock for my pony just outside a village near Warwick. Scroll on through time and my brother and I grew up and left home, my father sadly passed away and the intrepid granny continued to live there alone for nearly thirty years. We encouraged her to move in vain - to God's own country or at least to somewhere in a town - but she was having none of it. And then last year, when we had long given up, she calmly bought a house off-plan in Warwick and put the family home up for sale.
It's taken a year to build her super doopah new home and just as long to clear out 52 years of clutter. Yes, some of the clutter was lovely and full of memories but lots of it hadn't seen the light of day since I left home over 40 years ago. But finally moving week came and I headed to the Midlands to be Mr Shifter. https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=mr+shifter&&view=detail&mid=623F64BBD5B1FA4D0506623F64BBD5B1FA4D0506&&FORM=VRDGAR
Full of dread that she wouldn't like it (she'd been to look a few weeks prior to moving day and at that point, she definitely didn't!), that she'd hate moving out of her home of so many years, that all manner of moving elements would go wrong, and so on... so this had not been something to anticipate with pleasure. And then, blow me down, none of those things happened and it all went well and she loves her new home and every time we speak (every day!) her voice is so full of excitement for each new day in her new home. Result!
And through it all, my little dog came too. And when we returned to Yorkshire on the Friday night, she was happy to be home for what turned out to be her last days. On our Sunday morning walk, she died sadly and unexpectedly and now she is buried in the garden with the other late family dogs, Henry and Mollie. Each morning I miss her wagging tail, her insistence on a walk (apart from when raining), her delight at her daily chew, her total refusal to ever get her feet wet, her greeting at the garden gate. RIP Bobbie. Top dog and friend.
And the biggest change of all is the arrival of number one child, great with child as they say in Biblical circles, and her lovely husband. They have made a home in our barn conversion and are now nesting like mad prior to the arrival of the most important baby in my world since the twins arrived 22 years ago. Number one looks absolutely blooming and this baby will bring so much joy to us all. Happy change!
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