As I write this morning....

My daughter is under my roof. By the end of the day, she will not be. It is a very simple thing that seems enormously difficult to fathom. They won't even be living all that near to us. We live in the south end, they will be living near the river in the west end. It is at minimum a forty minute drive.

I won't have a lot of time to dwell on it, of course. Moving is the kind of physical task you kind of do without thinking about it. Last night, we moved all of her stuff down two flights of stairs into the garage. You would not think that someone that young could accumulate that much stuff! We hauled boxes and boxes of books, clothes, glasses, and cooking pans, and my wife and her friend cleared a huge space in our garage so we had somewhere to put it. We spent about four hours at it, just getting things ready to go onto the truck. Note that not a thing has yet left the house!

I am convinced I will live longer than my son in law, by all this. I was running up and down stairs twice as long as he was, and I don't think I ever got half as out of breath as he did. A lot of people these days are... inert. Yes, inert, the only word I can think to use. I have a feeling the only one running around the park with my granddaughter will be me - I'll be the only one energetic enough!

My brother in law might come by this morning to do an early run of boxes. It is a two hour drive for him to get here, but I know he'd like to be involved. Moving out is a profound moment - not quite as profound as having your first child (that one's coming in about three weeks), but it certainly qualifies as a milestone.