Reluctant Nomads

In choosing my title, I tried really hard not to sound as self-pitying as I feel. Don't know how successful I was...

Well, we are in our last week at 142 Kualapa Place. And we won't be just shifting to 108 Kualapa Place. Our meeting on Tuesday with the guy who is the co-listor/co-owner of the vacant house we were looking at came over for a meeting to "discuss our proposal" - said proposal being that we live in this vacant house with the messed up carpet that has been on the market for over a year, bring in our own furniture, and dare I say, good taste in art (most of it's mine, so careful what you say), and keep it like a fully staged model home, ready to show at a moment's notice, and in return, have a considerably reduced rent. whew!! That's a mouthful.... Anyway, this guy comes in and within the first few minutes says that there would be no financial consideration. We could have it for the going rate for rent around here and do all that other stuff. My husband looked him straight in the eye and said "oh, we're not going to do that" LOVE THAT MAN O' MINE!!! Anyway, after a few more minutes of explaining all the many things they had going for that property, the fellow left. It took all of fifteen minutes - and that included time to visit with our dog. When he left, we were disappointed, but we felt okay. This very nice fellow left still owning/listing a vacant house with a messed up carpet, a few dead roaches in a market where nobody is buying... hmmmm....

So, I pack and pack, not knowing when I'll get to play "Christmas" and open all my goodies again. I'm endeavoring to pack in a calm organized fashion. Of course, I have resolved such things before, only to find myself throwing in those last things -usually from the bathroom cabinet below the sink that you and all your helper friends totally forgot - into the one box remaining, which is usually too big so all the giant bottles of conditioner, mouthwash, and toothpaste that you bought in six packs from Costco bounce around for a while, leaving you to open sometime later and find that one of the toothpastes has ruptured, leaving green-striped goo over everything - but a least the box and its contents smell minty fresh. Yes, I am determined to avoid that.

A week from right now, Don and our landlord will be doing the final walk-through. I won't be there. It really isn't that I think I might be prone to violence. I've gotten over that. Almost. It's just that I am so sad to leave this place we have called home for the last year, and so many wonderful things happened here. Of the things that I will miss:

- Living on a golf course. It's had its moments of amusement, as I have seen -and heard - golfers hitting from about 50 feet in front of our house. They do not want to be there. There's the crack of the club hitting the ball, then the louder crack of said ball hitting the monkey pod tree - or sometimes, treeS, as it ricochets and ends up on our driveway - followed by an even louder string of epithets and curses as the hapless golfer swears he'll never play again. Then there's "pirate" golf, as Don, our sons, and friends would, on occasion, grab some clubs and play a couple holes just before dark. This May, we had the joy of watching our two-year-old granddaughter play her version, as well. The golf course is where we takie our evening walks at sunset with our dog, FloJo. It's her time to run, but then sit quietly as Don and I sit on one of the tee boxes, watch the sunset, talk, and pray to the creator of the magic that is unfolding in our sight. I'll miss that so much.

- Bird life. Yes, I said birds!! I love these guys! From the cooing doves - who only coo more as they are beating the cheese out of each other - the ever chattering mynahs, cardinals with their OCD songs, to my personal favorite and the bane of almost everyone else's existence: the Francolins!! Those are the grouse-like birds who have a call that can make your ears bleed if you stand too close. I love 'em! Once I learned to sleep through their ear-shattering alarms in the mornings, I started appreciating the absolute comedy these birds are. They seldom fly, instead, they walk very fast with their wings plastered to their side, much like a group of second-grade boys who have been told they cannot run, but must walk to the lunch line, so they do a semi-goose step. with arms straight down and legs stiff but moving as quickly as possible. These are the francolins. They are also doting parents. During the hatching season, we had several family groups with the CUTEST baby birds ever! They would skitter about, with bambinos following adults, learning the wing-glued-to-the-side speed walk of their parents. But should anyone - especially four-legged furry types like FloJo - walk nearby, one or two adults would come out, shrieking a call of alarm to both threaten and distract. Very impressive. But watching them socially is a serious hoot. There was some drama between a few of them out in front of our house the other day, and again, they resembled little scruffy boys as the call went out, "Fight!! Fight!!"
I lost count of how many francolins came scooting - not flying - to watch the top match-up on that evening's card. Love love love these birds!

- Our gardeners. Yes, these are the same guys who have every loud power tool known to the landscape industry, and it seems they love to use them when I am looking for quiet. But that's okay. These diligent, hardworking people are responsible for making this neighborhood we live in absolutely lovely! And they never fail to smile or wave to us. These guys I will miss, and I pray God's blessing on them

- Most of all, I will miss the love and fellowship that has taken place within these walls. If you never got to experience a Dalton Mega-Meat gut-buster, I apologize! But what makes me weep with joy and sadness all at once is the thoughts of our kids and grandkids here for Don's 6oth. It was perfection. Amber finger-painting in the garage, playing dress up with Grammy's costume jewelry and big hats, playing with her baby brother or daddy or Grampy in the blow-up pool out front, and drawing with chalk on the lanai concrete with her mommy. There was the "steak grilling competition" night, when our three sons had their own cook-off to see who was the true steakmeister. Don and I were the well-fed judges and were smart enough to declare a three-way tie.

There is so much. But for every sweet and beautiful memory we have of this place, we know that the Lord has thousands more in the places ahead - and INFINITELY more in our eternal home with Him! WHile I continue this packing, I still battle the tears. Shoot. I battle not crumbling to the ground in a full-blown tantrum like a four-year-old in a grocery store just denied a box of Benny Bunny's Sweet Puffy Loops breakfast cereal.

I had someone say to me one time, that how I saw God in everything was a mystery to her. Sad. But she had it only partly right. God isn't just IN everything - He IS everything!!