Moving

This month we move house.

I can't wait - it is a tingle of excitement that starts in my toes and runs up to my eye-lashes every time I think about it. I never tried to settle in our current place - never cleaned the corners, so intent was I on moving as soon as possible - so I've never settled and the corners have remained thick with I-don't-want-to-know what. But OH, the new house, with its spare bedrooms and back yard... its kitchen big enough so that appliances can be stored (oh the novelty) IN the kitchen, maybe even ON the surfaces. And there's a bathtub that's deep enough for the water to cover my shoulders, and it has jacuzzi style bubble technology! (An aside: Americans seem to be anti-bath, or else think that only very short people take baths, because almost all American bath-tubs are stunted and shallow. Our new one is just stunted, and this will have to do)

I was thinking about it all yesterday and I realised that, not since I left home for university, have I known where I will be living 9 months ahead of time. Even my two year stint in London was plagued with the unsettled uncertainty of not knowing when / if J would move over and we would move apartments. That's my entire adult life spent in housing limbo. And it's all about to change.Yes, the annoying truth of our transatlantic marriage is that we'll never be completely certain that we're staying put, but for the time being we have a home. A home where I can let myself settle and clean the corners.

I tingle, I tell you.