Something happened in June that I didn't have the courage to even speak about.
I've been learning that our cells keep memories, I felt the need to pack up a few of mine and send them off to the inner cellular storehouses of my deepest connective tissue. Memories of our June move.
What's so traumatic about around the corner? It was extracting ourselves from the old townhouse. This time, with my school, stomach flu, big kids off to boyscout camp, everything made for a perfect moving week storm. The Relief Society sisters came to help me clean out drawers in the kitchen, wash walls, scrub sofas, and I worked by their side of course, except for the few moments when I had to run to the bathroom to cry my prideful tears. When you realize you really can't do it alone it kind of hurts.
But here we are now. We feel very happy and blessed to be here. This is the yin house. The shady side of the hill. We don't face the park anymore, but we have this wonderful common grassy area. We face the church and the mountains. North.
Our neighbors invited us to have a barbecue at their home. This is their dog and this was the first time that we saw Sophie stand up her own.
And we had another pet passing, but not without a proper burial. This was our sweet Frank Moses, the pastel parakeet.
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