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      The squirrels who have spent the year creating tiny craters all over the front yard have nothing on me.
Just as they’ve been packing away acorns for future use, I’ve also been collecting with an eye to the future. Some of my storehouse is new – curtain rods, pillows, beach chairs – but most of it is second-hand. From me. 

          My basement and kitchen are goldmines of the duplications, discards, and all the extras that build up over 45 years of marriage. (Yes! I was in fact an eight-year-old bride, thanks for asking.) An extra colander here, a duplicate crock pot there, and now I have a use for them.

     Since last March, the porch has seen a growing Mt. Everest of boxes, end tables (thank you daughter and golf partner Judi), and lamps. An added bonus is the newly discovered real estate in the linen closet and on the kitchen shelves. 

          Fifteen months ago, with absolutely no idea we were going to do this, we bought a second home in Florida. That’ll teach our kids to be independent and employed. At least we’re not frittering away their inheritance on sky-diving lessons and mediums. And when we go to that final retirement village in the clouds, they’ll either have a place they can sell or the entertainment of negotiating which family gets to spend Christmas vacation in the sun. 

          We finally have a closing date, so very soon we’ll be tying the mattress to the fender and enjoying the thrills of pulling a UHaul trailer through seven states at 60 miles an hour for three days.

        If that’s not the test of a good marriage, I don’t know what is.