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This photo is the last sunrise that I will capture from my garden in France. As I sit here writing this I am in my jimby jambies (pyjamas for those who have just stumbled across this blog) RD is sitting opposite me in our red chair with his eyes closed, he’s exhausted and it’s only just coming up to eight in the morning.

The packing up of our house is coming to a close now, with still so much to do. I am wide awake because I woke up with so many words in my head, hence I am sitting in my blue chair writing this post.

The blue and red chairs, where we sit each morning are old and tired, but still comfortable, like old friends. We have decided to leave them here in front of our picture window, for the new family to enjoy, if only for a few weeks and months before they start to make changes. This place where we sit has been a place of solace and comfort at times, a simple thing, and that’s what this adventure in France has been about: learning to just ‘be’ and enjoy the simplest of things. I suddenly find that tears are pricking my eyes as I write this.

Our Place Of Calm

I woke up this morning and said ‘goodbye’ to my bed, it’s an old friend that I won’t see for months, I hope our reunion will be sooner rather than later.

When I came down to the kitchen this morning there were no kittens to say ‘Good Morning Girls’ to. They went off to the cattery yesterday. There we were, all emotional that we were tearing them away from the garden and house they loved, worried for them. There they were snuggled in the heated beds in the cattery even before we got out of the door, happy to be away from the mayhem. Tilly never came back, when she came to visit it was her goodbye to us, telling us she loves us, but she has chosen to live in France with whoever is caring for her now. We understand that, and will always love her so.

I find that there comes a point, when you are moving home, where the memories of the times you had there seem to seep out of the walls. You can almost here them, the voices, the laughter, the tears. I am an empath, and so I can, at times, literally feel and hear them. When I went into the kitchen today to make our first cup of tea I stood at the end of the room, where our five cats would be first thing, mewling for their breakfast. I wrote about the cacophony of cats that would greet me each morning back in 2018, not realising that it would change days later when Tilly left home. Today I stood in my quiet kitchen with my eyes closed and I could hear them all, and see them all, the memory brought a smile to my face and tears to my eyes. Sophie died in 2019, and Molly died last New Years Day. Memories.

As we pack the house the rooms have begun to echo, and just this last week I have thought of Livermore, and Dylan and our summer of fun, heard the laughter and the splashing of the pool.

I have thought of Nic and the girls, and giggled at all the things we laughed at, mainly RD!

It’s only natural at this time of year that Christmas’s come to mind, not least when Tom has come to visit, especially last year, when he surprised us and I looked out in the garden to see him standing there, not knowing he was coming.

The memories are also there of when we have sat with our last five euros, not knowing if we can feed our animals, let alone us. Of cutting up the trees in our garden to provide us with some heat. I distinctly remember the January in 2019 when we started to question whether we were holding to our dream too tight. And that has been our biggest lesson, to believe that what you need will come and it will; and it always has. We have faith now, in ‘life’ leading the way. So much that we also know when it’s time to listen and make change.

As I write this I realise that there are no memories of anger, or harsh words, In this house and think that just about sums us up.

No matter how much we love things they change, no matter how tight we hold on, and there is another lesson: ‘Let Go’. We have learned that well, it’s given us the courage to make this move now.

We move to a gite this evening, today is going to be a busy but poignant day.

The sun is setting on our adventure in France.

Rosie