It Ends.

It is the 5th. The date I begged the Masons to give us until for our exodus away from the attic. The eviction. Give us until January 5th, I beg you.

And here it is.

And true to the vow I made to Joe and myself, though we have been sleeping in our new home for over two weeks, I did not remove the last pieces of our property and turn in my keys for our old home until the very last possible day.

Call it a victory, of sorts.

Or call it stubborn.

Or call it both.

In any case, we spent the morning of today, the 5th, carefully cleaning and polishing and scrubbing the corners and surfaces of our home, one last time... the last rites and rituals of a now-deceased home. Saying goodbye. Closing doors.

Noah helped me mop. Normally, I might get impatient with the sloshed watery mess, but when you have nothing to lose, what does it hurt to let the curious wee one play a bit? In fact, it helped the task take on a cheerful tint, as we mopped side-by-side through each room. He was single-of-purpose in a way I rarely see him.

I'm glad I let him mop.

Joe scrubbed surfaces. In some cases, I went behind him and rescrubbed. In other cases, he did a fine job, and as a team, we got it done.

At the end, Noah had already had his fill of the empty attic adventure, and had dragged his dad down to more interesting places in the Lodge. Joe had had his fill of the cleaning, and was unsentimental as he took on the task of following Noah to new places.

At the end, it was just me, checking drawers, cupboards, corners one last time. Closing blinds. Turning the heat down to 60. Running my hands over walls as microflashes of memories flitted past. Naps in the sunlight. Our first home-cooked dinner as newlyweds. Pacing the floor with a newborn. A Murder Mystery party with friends in absurd costume. The Christmas tree we shoved out of the window instead of dragging down three flights. (Less mess, ya know.) The tiny bathtub-let where Noah learned to like the water. The small, deep windows letting in winter light while we were warm. Assembling the crib. Making cookies. And on and on and on....

And so it ends.

My first home with Joe. Noah's first home. Our attic. Warm, hidden, old, cozy, quirky, small, authentic, odd, HOME.

For the sake of catharsis, here is what I won't miss:

* three flights of stairs
* the front door that never latched completely without the lock engaged
* the too-small bathtub
* the toilet that often didn't want to flush without a manual jiggle in the tank.
* the bathroom sink that clogged.
* the missing broken twin of the medicine cabinet mirror.
* a too-small freezer
* a kitchen sink that backed up with regularity, despite at least seven plumber-visits.
*let me list that sink TWICE, I hated it so much.
* the new mice friends we just met.
* the dishwasher that had to be rolled over and attached to the sink to work.
* no counter space.
* no cabinet space.
* the bars on one of the living room windows.
* the missing light fixture that ended up catching fire. (Long story.Don't ask.)
* loose outlets that wouldn't hold a plug.
* the bats.
* the light fixture that stopped working in the bedroom.
* the persistent rattle of the ceiling fan.
* the creepy frosted glass window on the bedroom door that Joe scared me with by telling me that we could see the silhouette of an intruder through it if one ever came up to our apt.
* Mason dinners.
* sorting Mason mail.
* mowing Mason lawns.
* the creepy Mason basement.
* having our car broken into yearly.
* street-parking.
* the inaccessibly gated street.
* the servitude.

What I will miss?

* a million things... a million moments... the era it represents.

But now, it ends. And on to another era. And more abundance, light, and joy.

Next stop: peace in my heart.

{Ever the need to photodocument the things of my life... but sans REAL camera, the cell camera will have to do... Goodbye, my attic.}