We're down to the final bits on purchasing the new little house on the Trent. As I sit on it's deck wondering how to make everything fit into such a small place, I find myself mourning the loss of our schoolhouse. Woe is me - this is the first time I've not been excited about buying/selling a house.
I spy Rob at the shoreline. With Parkinson's disease on his horizon, Rob's only concern is where his dock will line up and if he can wrestle the swans from the lady next door who feeds them corn daily. "I'll use better stuff", says he.
My melancholy moves aside....slowly.
With thirty years between us, we will meet in the middle. Simple.
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