My Name Is Dorothy . . .

. . . and I've lost my red shoes.

So I can't click my heels together three times and say, "I want to go home."

For starters, I am home. But it's becoming less home and more space to be cleared by the day. The guest room is empty except for the bed and dresser and a few clothes hanging in the closet that will go into the next wardrobe box. The guest bath IS empty.

Most of my books are packed. Most of my files are packed.

In the kitchen, all the fancy stuff we don't use often is packed. We've begun to eat strange combinations of food at dinner to use as much of what's in the pantry as possible.

My live-in handyman said he feels as if the move is done because he's emptied the shed of all his toys.

Each day our home becomes more of a shell. And the storage spaces we've rented become fuller. It's all part of the process. Before we know it, we'll be emptying those spaces and loading a truck. The happy part will be filling an empty house and making it our new home.

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