Milk and croutons.

As we prepare to move we are eliminating ‘stuff’. Even food stuff. Cleaning out the fridge and the pantry. Buying only what we need this week, eating what we already have.

So essentially we are down to milk and croutons. Not a tasty combination. Not a really good match either. Milk is innately perishable, dated and needs to be consumed in a timely manner. Croutons have the shelf life of cheeze whiz. Seriously. How do you know when a crouton goes bad? It gets harder? It dries up? It breaks a tooth when you bite it?

Maybe moving is a lot like milk and croutons. Facing the rapid evaporation of life here. Unable to preserve this life. Like trying to hold milk in the palm of your hand. But still consuming this life and getting great nourishment from it.

And confident that there are croutons. Little chunks of life here that will travel well with us, stories that will add flavor where we go, and memories that have an unending shelf life.

Maybe milk and croutons really do go well together.

T-Minus 6 and counting.

In-between.

Not quite there. Kind of not really here. Somewhere in-between.

Ever feel that way? It’s odd. Like being stuck in one of those old revolving doors. The kind that spin around, taking you from the outside to the inside. Supposedly from the rain filled streets to the well lit hotel.

But then you get in the revolving door on the day that Mrs. Hoeffer’s third grade class is visiting the city. And the other dividers fill up with giddy 9 year olds, running you around and around and around.

Never getting in, but never getting out either. Accomplishing nothing, but also not missing anything. Watching. Moving. Stepping. Still not there. But really not here either.

In 2 weeks we move across the country.

T-minus 16 and counting.