So we’re moving – as of March 1st. OMG, I’m moving again!! There is a sigh of relief that the search is over, but dread coming that we’ve got to sort and purge and pack and unpack. I’m assuming it will be a tad easier because Boo is older now and will be easier to manage – right? RIGHT? I’ve talked to him already about moving and of course, he wants to know why? How come? I said that our house is too old and we’re moving into a new house. He then said, “Then we’ll stay in the new house until it’s old and then find another new house.” We’re moving about 15 kilometres away to the North Shore -meaning I will have to go over a the most congested bridge in North America and be closer to the mountains. More snow and rain but let’s face it, we’re in Vancouver and it rains a lot no matter where you live. There’s already a tenanted suite downstairs, but we will have 3 bedrooms with master walk in closet (not huge American style), 2 full bathrooms, bigger living and dining area, our own washer and dryer and even a deck. The kitchen is unremarkable, but plenty of cupboard and pantry space. No yard, but that also means no more lawn mowing and leaf raking. Shops and restaurants are only a 5 minute drive away and there’s a nearby elementary school. Did I mention it’s cheaper? Goodbye tony west side with its tree lined streets,dog friendly Endowment Lands, and overpriced crappy old houses. Hello North Shore, big box stores and bear proof garbage cans. Oh, don’t worry about me, the liquor store is a also a 5 minute drive away.
I was telling a friend yesterday that I am feeling much better these days…lighter. It was only a few short months ago when I could barely see straight – I was so fed up, drowning in emotions I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. You know, when you kinda wish your parents would disappear and leave you the house and lots of money? I read this article in More magazine and couldn’t believe someone had actually written this down. “Being a widow is to have control over your life again.” That was it, in a nutshell, I felt as if I had no control over my life. I didn’t make the money, my debit record revealed precisely where I spent money. So if I wanted to buy a pair of extravagant earrings or a L.elo vibrator, I had to surreptiously use my personal credit card and live with the guilt that I didn’t buy food or an educational course for my son. I didn’t want a husband to ask me if I had done this or that or comment for the billionth time that I make a lot of mess when I cook dinner. I was tired of picking up dog shit, empty poo from the potty and listening to outrageous farts. TIRED. So, yes, it occurred to me that life as a widow might just give me the respite (and new wardrobe) I desired. Have a laugh and read this story.