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It’s too bad that we can’t unpack our hearts and settle them in a new home the way we do our stuff. In one little week, with the help of some pretty amazing friends, all of the boxes have been unpacked. Clothes, dishes, pots and pans, furniture and cat toys have found a corner to nestle in and look like they’re always been part of this space. Nick has found a hiding place in the linen closet and Rose, being the picky girl that she is, has found two or maybe three places to nestle into during the day. For two fat cats, it’s impressive how tiny a space they can fit into.

Then, today,  The Wonder Worker, Steven , and I spent six hours creating corners of “home.” With every shelf, every painting, every print hung a little more of me came into this space. All around me are the stories that I have carried with me over these years — the pottery and pictures and memories from Spain, the Mexican church found on the street, the window that hung in my old home at 2782 when I was a kid and the ceiling high tree that I bought during the first year of my marriage with Ned here in Toronto. It all fits here, like it belongs.

Now, I just have to start planting my roots into this new neighbourhood. That’s more difficult than hanging a picture, eh? Today was the first time that I went to swimming and to brunch with Sarah and Pixel at my old neighbourhood place. I had a little momentary “Oh” when I came out and instead of walking south down Major Street I headed north to the subway and “home.” It felt new and strange but, at the same time, better than it had a few days ago. Then, tonight, as I was sitting out on the porch watching the folks on the street taking an evening stroll in the cooled down air of a sultry June day, a weak but comfortable feeling came over me that I belonged here even though I was three flights up. I just need to have the patience that I preach to other people going through changes in their lives. One week down and many more to come.