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In the flurry of all-things-doing-to-get-ready-to-move, Mom and I yesterday removed the stained glass from the windows next to our front door.

The windows have a story of their own: custom made by Dad, he gave us six for the first Christmas we spent in our new house in Austin.  I hated to sound ungrateful, but I reminded him that we had ten, not six, windows to fill with his colorful creations.  His reply?  “You get the next four when you’re legitimate.”  It was funny and perfect coming from him.  I reminded him of his promise the day we got engaged and four more windows were part of our wedding gift.  He couldn’t help but make one of the Texas flag and one with a light blue cross.  We put them on separate sides of the front door, in keeping with our constitutional right of separation of church and state.

So the windows are now gone, after nearly 10 years of filtering the light into our living room.  It’s very strange.  I keep thinking the front door is open with all of the bright light coming in the house.  I can actually see people approaching our front door, and they can easily look inside and get a gander at the mess that abounds.

And it’s loud in here, too.  Pictures are coming off the walls.  Things are being boxed up.  Rugs will eventually get rolled up.  We actually noticed an echo in our bedroom yesterday evening.

After living in one place for 10 years, I have mixed emotions about moving, selling, moving on.  There are a lot of memories that will always be here, always colored by the light of those stained glass windows.

Mom packed up the windows yesterday.  She said, “I don’t know what in the world you’ll do with these at your new house in California.”  I know exactly what I’ll do: find the perfect spot for them to color all of our new experiences–and keep the treasures of the past with us always.