It’s a new year and a time to herald in lots of changes.
It seems that, for a traditionalist like me, I’m much more accepting of change at this time of year than I am from February to November.
But big changes still scare me, and my daughter’s decision to move house was a major thing for me let alone her.
The whole thing was done pretty quickly.
One minute the old house was on the market at, what I thought, was too high a price and the next it was sold.
I had my doubts.
“Stay where you are,” I told her. “You have great memories here.”
She didn’t really say much, apart from, “It’s just bricks and mortar, mum. All your memories are in your head.”
I have avoided moving house for a long, long time.
Perhaps I should have moved years ago, when it was clear that I was on my own and had several spare bedrooms that were occupied but occasionally.
But I just couldn’t bare the upheaval.
Imagine the packing, the paperwork, the thought of calling a dozen different services to tell them you’d moved?
In saying that, I was ever so slightly jealous of my daughter’s new adventure.
That was until I was called upon to help clear out her loft.
To let you understand, my son-in-law is a hoarder.
Empty boxes, old coffee tables, baby things, university books, magazines and remnants of flash-in-the-pan hobbies, were all in one loft.
It took five adults four hours to clear it out.
My daughter had a skip in her driveway and we still had to take two carloads to the dump – twice.
But, come dinner time, it was done.
My daughter had her friends working with military precision, one on the phone changing address, another IT expert unplugging everything and a pregnant friend making tea and sandwiches to keep the workers happy.
As with everything else, no matter how big the challenge, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.