We're eight days away from closing. We expect to take possession two days early, on Saturday the 13th, so we can move in. Our buyer is selling his house to someone who's selling theirs, so there's a four-link daisy chain of closings all scheduled for the 15th. We need to be out so our buyer can move in.

So that means we've been packing. We've been packing like banshees, and there's still a ton to do. We cadge boxes from wherever we can - family, friends, the office - and bring them home to fill and stack on top of other boxes. A couple of rooms are essentially done, but the master suite is untouched. We still have to live here for a week, after all.

I'm not sure if Harry is aware of what's happening. He survived the move into this house several years ago, shortly after I'd gotten him. I'm sure the chaos is upsetting to his usual routine, but beyond that I can't tell. I know when I first walk him from the new house he's going to make a beeline here, but after that he should be OK. He adjusts to things fairly well.

I just know I'll be glad when it's over. Unpacking is never as bad as packing. We should be in this house for a good long time, which suits me fine. My dad used to say that his next move would be to the cemetary - that was well before he and my mom moved from New York to Portland, Oregon. I know exactly what he meant.