I’m living a life of in-between, with thoughts scattered between two homes.

I know that I should focus attention here.  But the work —  a long list of to-dos  — overwhelms me.  Which explains yesterday’s flight to sweeter thoughts and activities; instead of dreaming about my new kitchen remodel, after returning home from Kara’s and holding that sweet not-so-dainty new granddaughter of mine, I should have been productive and painted.

Why is it that since signing the purchase contract this weekend, I’m seeing my current home with fresh eyes?  All I know is that I am now awake to the fact that there is more painting touch-up required than I first imagined.  Doorways especially — living room french doors, the interior side of oft-used doors in the front and back — even the little midget door entrance into the basement.

But before I paint, there’s a need to remove collected clutter.  And it will take time to do this properly.  I must pace myself in order to sort carefully between giveaways and keepers.  I know if I don’t take this work in small doses, my heart will grow hard  so that even keepers will end up as giveaways or trash.  Experience from last year’s clear-out of my parent’s home has taught me not to part too swiftly with evidence of everyday life.

All those books of mine — mostly unread.  I fear a need to find a new home for many — as my reading taste has evolved from those acquired in the early nineties.  All that cobalt blue glass, which probably needs to come out of windows to not distract potential home buyers from the charms of the house.  Then there all those things we don’t part with when we should, but save for a rainy day.

It’s no small irony that today is a rainy day.  An off and on again shower that is sometimes soft and steady, before hushing to a bird-chirping silence before it strikes up cymbals and lightning to drive down hard.  Not pounding.  But determined.  As I must also be with this last bit of house-tending.  God help me.