I’ve been making a point to get down to the harbor each morning with Roux, a little ritual of ours that we both enjoy and will surely miss, a highlight of our time living so near to the water.

It’s true, and it’s no real secret, I have loved this neighborhood. I’ve had the best time strolling the streets of this part of town, what I like to call urban hiking. For a gal who likes to walk as much as I do, this has been an ideal location, the perfect juxtaposition of city landscape and suburban scenery. I will miss these parts.

But even more than the missing, I am grateful. How lucky I have been to have these years, this life.

Quite a few boxes have been packed and taken to storage, but there is still quite a bit of work left to do. It doesn’t really feel like home here anymore, it feels like a flop house. It’s starting to echo now that cabinets and shelves have been emptied. Plus, the big kids are gone, their energy having left with them. Their space here is vacant, a kind of art installation paying homage to the part of their childhood spent within these walls.

What I want, more than anything, is for my sweet Huckleberry to have real memories of this time in his life. When his whole family lived under one roof, happy and loving and together. Where the park, the boats, the library, the bridge, the canyon, our donut shop, our coffee shop, almost all our favorite restaurants, were just a few short steps from our front door. How his days were filled joy and adventure.

I can’t imagine looking back at this time with anything in my heart other than gratitude.

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