The kitchen is packed up, except for the kitchen island and refrigerator, and moved. Only the essentials remain: medicines, paper plates, plastic cups and utensils, quick food items, a mug and the coffee pot. I will not miss this kitchen too much. The counters are granite, which is nice, but these shiny counters are so dark and mottled that I never really knew if they were clean. The sink is black. Who thought of that? The cabinets are beautiful and white, but the floor is also white and unsealed. A cleaning nightmare. Daily.
As I finished packing up the spices and bowls last night, I found numerous post-it love notes from John. Small "I love You"s that have sustained me this past year. Even though I know that John will never stop sticking notes in our cabinets, on the mirrors and on my heart, I tucked them into the boxes with the dishes.
Our love for one another, our children, our parents and our friends is the easiest thing to move and pack this week. This love is sustaining and encouraging, lasting and strengthening. Without it, we would break. With it, we endure. The move is making these relationships stronger, better.
I was awake before John and the girls this morning. The house was quiet except for the heater and the sun was shining through the stained glass window in the dining room onto a large stack of packed boxes. I padded through the living room and into the kitchen to make coffee. As I opened the cupboard to grab the last coffee cup in the house, I read a love note that is usually hidden behind a stack of vintage blue and white dinner plates. A note that will stay with the house after we are gone. A note from John.