Halfway down the Danube

Sad House

The house looks sad. There are piles everywhere -- a car pile, an airship pile, a "this goes only to Germany" pile. Already, the house doesn't look like it's being lived in anymore.

Tomorrow morning, the packers will come and take everything that isn't in the car by then. We will spend one more lonely night in an empty house, without internet access, a camping adventure for the kids. Then it's off to Germany in the car, and to Yerevan next weekend.

It's the end of a chapter in our lives. We had wonderful times in this house, and we had difficult times. We rejoiced over the birth of David and Jacob, and we mourned the loss of Benjamin. We saw Alan walk out of the door to his first day of school, and we heard David speak his first word. We felt safe during earthquakes and sheltered against snow storms. We had friends over for Thanksgiving dinners and for board game evenings. We had a big Christmas tree in the corner, Easter eggs hanging off the chandelier, Halloween spiders dangling over the doors.

It's a good house. I wish the next tenants as much happiness and luck in this house as we had.

It's time to take the mezzuzah off the door frame.

Good night, old house.