A steady stream of Spanish chatter woffs up from outside of the first floor apartment. The family residing there hosts a birthday party for one of their children. It’s a hot September afternoon, and only the hint of a breeze rustles the still-green leaves of the neighborhood trees.

It’s our fifth day in our new 2nd floor apartment. Half the square-footage of our home of 19+ years, it offers us the comfort we need without the burdens of property maintenance that always accompany home ownership. Frank is away at Binghampton, a few weeks into his 3rd year. With Mira and I already quasi-empty-nesters, a move made sense.

But what the head calculates, the heart spurns. For the first time since our move last week, I feel wistful for the old house.

new oaks

these familiar

familial sounds

The transition began with a realization of rising real estate prices. We interviewed three realtors, and signed with the one we felt most comfortable with. Our professionally photographed home soon drew bids. After one failed contractual bid from a hedging buyer, and a fierce bidding war between two others, we accepted a generous order, well above our asking price. We pushed for–and got–a September closing. This gave us my summer vacation to prepare to move.

After almost 2 decades in a nearly 3000 square-foot high ranch, we accumulated stuff! I needed to unload a significant portion of it—fast! From my tentative beginnings with Craig’s List and Facebook Marketplace, I gained confidence with early success, and with overcoming scam attempts by unscrupulous folk unleashing bots. The basketball hoop went first, followed quickly by the wall mirror, coffee and end tables, and a massage/riki table. I soon abandoned Craig’s List to focus on listing in Facebook MP. I also brought multiple items to two antique dealers/consignment shops: an old electric guitar, amplifyer and related equipment, two cartons full of old comic books, some CDs.

The weeks past. The garage and office emptied more rapidly with each passing day. An assortment of random tools, playmats and play tables, a Doll House, a book case: I even found a buyer for my old train table. My father’s homemade gift to me now has a second lease on use, after sitting unused for over forty years!

shortening days

a lump in the throat as

the server leaves

The end of August arrives. My neighbor’s son and I move the stone patio table down from the deck and over to his yard. The chaise set and end table are long gone. We relieve Mira’s office of the old couch; someone else already bought the love seat. The folding table that we used to replace our sold kitchenette set we placed at the curb, too.

Night falls. A super Blue Moon rises above the treeline. I walk Mira across our empty deck, down the steps, and across our backyard, to a corner where the moonlight shines unhindered. There, we dance under the light of that moon, on our property of 19+ years for the last time.

I could tell you about the harrowing packing of both of our cars—for the eighth of such trips. Or how the movers started to leave without telling us that they didn’t pack the last of the paintings we intended to sell. Or the 7:30 AM collision of an overloaded truck with the last overpass before the Tappan Zee bridge. How that incident led to a 4-hour drive for the movers, and a 4.5 one for Mira.

But that is a tale for another time.

one last luck

back at the home we owned

black-eyed suzies

The music passes through the walls and windows of the sun room like a poker through paper machete. I half-jokingly suggest that Mira and I invite ourselves over with her ravioli dish and our bottle of Meiomi.

Isn’t that how memories of a new home are made?

descending sun

the bustle of this

new city life

Extremely late to my own dVerse Post. The Pub is still open. Come join us!