While I loved raising my kids on acreage in the best community ever, I hated the extended snow season that came with living on the north side of a hill in the Hart region of our city.
I convinced Albert that it was in the best interest of all that we move to town after Jed, our youngest, graduated highschool.
Ok, it mighta sounded more like, "Jed and I are moving to town where there is bus access for him and I don't have to drive 30 minutes to get to work, church, groceries etc. Do you want to come with us?"
I spent most Sunday afternoons from December to March driving around neighbourhoods in PG assessing how much snow they had, how many kids hung out in the streets, and where the bus stops were.
We had discussions. I had dreams. I had visions. We toured homes. I X'd off various neighbourhoods.
And on July 19, 2005 we took possession of our "town house" on Sanderson Rd.
It wasn't a dream home.
It didn't even have giant potential.
But it was south facing. It had a shop. And city garbage pick-up.
I was convinced.
And sometime about 2017 when we'd been in the house about 12 years and made many adjustments, additions, memories, and renovations, Albert realized that his "18-year plan" was zooming in all too fast.
"I take back my 18-yr plan," he said. "I'm not willing to move again. Ever. I am going to die in this house."
And he followed through about a year-and-a-half later.
So here I am in 2021.
Two years before our original plan to sell our Sanderson house.
And at sixteen years and four days I posted a "For Sale" sign on our home.
My house looks nothing the same. My life looks nothing the same.
