Sweet Rosemary, my daughter's friend from college, is a real estate agent now and she came over and looked at my huge house and made notes and lists and said, sure, sure in the most comforting way. Meanwhile my head was spinning and floating with detritus; what if I convert the garage into an apartment and then I'd have two renters so I could stay here, but wait, I don't want to stay here. The upkeep, the expense of painting, roof, yard, etc etc etc.
So this morning she sent me a photo of a house on the very street I want to live on, south of here, backing the greenbelt, fireplace (o joy), small lot, smaller house, o yes. We're gonna go look at it this morning. The bank thinks I might qualify for my current house AND a new house so my mortgage would be a million dollars (here hyperventilating begins) but Rosemary said I could come to her house for dinner.
I don't want to think for a moment about packing and moving. I've been here for 13 years. Enough time to gather way too much stuff.