There is an echo in my house.
I don’t mean some strange or paranormal echo, or even the kind of echo made in a small room (you know the one where you shouldn’t take phone calls), but the kind of echo where there is not enough of you, or your “stuff” in the house to absorb small noises which normally go unnoticed like footsteps or laughter.
Generally I have noticed that this only occurs as you straddle between two places, the one that you are moving out of and the one that you are moving into. I contemplated this as I packed a box of books and I was struck by the similarity between a book and a house.
Within the pages and chapters of a book it tells the reader a story. It may be happy, sad, uplifting or even informative. A book could be long or short; old, new or a reprint; one chapter or many.
Houses can be large or small; old, new or renovated; the home to one family for a life time or home to one family for a certain stage of their life. The house witnesses the pages, chapters and the stories of the people and families that live there.
We all move for different reasons. We want to upsize for a family, down size because the kids have moved (or you want them to!) or move sideways into another area…and as I pack the boxes of “stuff” our chapter in this house is closing, but our chapter in the next house is only just beginning.