Tuesday, July 25, 2017

You're turning violet, Violet!

It's been a busy summer.

Four years ago we left our Tennessee home of fifteen years and moved to our home state of Wisconsin.  At the time our grown children were all married, but there were no grandchildren and no indication of any in the near future (that all changed on the day we handed over our keys to our daughter and son in law who informed us that we were indeed going to be grandparents).

What was done, was done.  The place of living was changed, boxes unpacked, pictures hung, a garage was built, and our new life in our old state began.

It was working well.  The driving between Wisconsin and our southern children was doable.  FaceTime was working fairly well for daily interactions with the newest member of our family.  It still was working when #2 grandchild was born in 2015.

Last summer, right around this time, we were anticipating the birth of #3 grandchild to be followed about a month later by #4 grandchild.  All was well, we were making it work.  I had scheduled time off from work so that I could be with both of our daughters after their babies were born.  We were managing.  We were making a tough situation doable.

Until.....

I had spent a good portion of August and September driving across the state of Tennessee helping out both of our daughters who lived on opposite sides of the state.  After #3 grandchild was born and my husband and I were on our way to assist the parents of #4 grandchild, I experienced at the time what I was sure just emotional grandmother blues.  My babies were having babies and I would have to leave them and be at least 700 miles away from them.  At least that's what I told myself it was and I told my husband too, because really, who in their right mind would move.....again.

I kept telling myself it was emotions and they would pass.  I'm always telling myself to not let my emotions rule my decisions.  As much as this "felt" emotional, it also "felt" different.  Like a pressing on my heart that something was up, much bigger and more detailed than planning 700 plus mile drives at Christmas and birthdays.

I told my husband this too.

He looked at me like I was crazy.

I felt crazy and emotional, and to be honest, a little out of control.

But in-between babies being born he made the call to our realtor and we decided that we would put our beautiful lake front Wisconsin home up for sale.  We would leave it in the Lord's hands that if we were meant to move, it would happen and if it was purely emotion, it wouldn't sell.  And, we would give it a year.

The contract was signed at the end of September.

Who buys lake front property in the winter, in Wisconsin no less?  This house wouldn't sell.  We'd be in Wisconsin through September and the house would go off the market and we would continue to make our long distance relationships work.

And then we got an offer on our house.

In February.

By March 31st we were moved out, our belongings in storage, and we had moved in with my parents.  In June we closed on our Tennessee home with a small acreage and here we are.

When we sat in the closing office the previous owner told us about a blueberry patch on the property.  She told us that there had been up to 100 gallons of blueberries in a season.  Being the non garden, non country girl, non any type of plant girl that I am, I had no concept of what that meant, nor did I care.  Blueberries were the least of my concern at that particular moment.

A few days after we closed my husband and I strolled out to see the blueberry "patch."  They looked like this.




About two weeks later, when the pages of the calendar flipped to July, those green balls suddenly became blue and this green in the garden city girl has been picking blueberries like her life depended on it.  We are quickly closing in on those 100 gallons.





What a difference a year makes.

It's been a bittersweet transition.  We said good-bye, again, to extended family and renewed friendships.  We said hello to little people who are just beginning to grow and learn and explore and hope and pray and believe.  We sit in a house, hubs and I, with a project list a mile long and just as wide, shaking our heads and marveling at how we got here.

Just like we were sling shotted up to Wisconsin four years ago is how this move seems too.  I quit using the word never four years ago, but I really hope this is our last move.  (Please, God).  And so I will pick my blueberries and relish the sunsets off my back deck.  I will watch the deer and the turkeys and enjoy today.  I will praise God for the wild ride He seems to think is good for me.







And I will pray that this is the last move.


Peace,

Ronda






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