What I’ve been doing these last few Mondays, like a strange blogger-squirrel, is writing posts and hoarding them. Instead of homing them at Dayton Grit, I let them sit, so that I could test how it felt to say goodbye to this space. And what I found was: it feels pretty good.

Writing is so useful for patting and patching and molding an experience until it’s something you feel okay with. It’s also useful good for faking completion when there’s no end in sight. But I don’t think it’s any accident that, as we’ve crept up to the two year mark of moving to Dayton, I’ve found myself not needing to write about the houses in the same way. Two years is a magical mark. It’s when people fall out of love and the euphoria of lottery-winning fades and the pain of losing a limb diminishes. It’s, also, apparently, when the shock of renovating wears off. If the walls of Old House and New House and Oldest House could talk, they’d say something like, in a lazy, off-hand way: I’m alright. You alright?

Yep, I’m alright.

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So here I am, un-squirreling. I’m posting these old, hoarded posts, throughout the rest of the week, with the final post next Monday. Because May 25 is, give or take a day, our two year Dayton-versary. Which will be a celebration, because I mean, guys? We even have a real closet now and it has almost all of our clothes.

It’s pretty big-time. And it’s time.

 

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