The Truck will be going soon.
We got The Truck in 2005 from my great aunt, a gift from my father for something I could not afford but wanted. It was a 1987 Ford F-250 with only 55,000 miles on it and camper shell, originally a boat towing truck for them. The price was right, and so it came to live with us in Old Home.
I loved The Truck. It was big, it was high, it rattled as I drove it . I could haul all kinds of things in it. It had good air conditioning, a tape player for my older cassettes, and an actual CB. It was a thing of beauty. Smaller cars or more expensive vehicles sheered away in fear as I drove by.
But then life happened. The layoff came, followed by the move. I couldn't justify flying back a third time to drive another item out, nor the cost of the gas to get here. But I hung onto it, sort of the last toehold in Old Home of the life we had, not wanting to get rid of it.
And then I got the revised insurance bill. Suddenly, having the revised toehold became less important than not paying the insurance.
So The Truck will be up for sale soon. But more importantly, the last bit of Old Home will be going up for sale as well.
It is, I suppose, an admittance of something which has already been self evident to almost everyone else at this point: we are here for a longer haul than I had either anticipated or initially wished. That's not a bad thing I suppose, nor is it particularly unwelcome; it's just a case of reality smacking me across the face with "Deal with where you are, not the idealization of where you were."