A few months ago, in a conversation with my friend and neighbor Eileen, I was explaining that I decided it was time to move, among other reasons, because I wanted to avoid the humiliation of my kids having to do it for me.

After 50 years in the same house, I know full well the extent of my hoarding of ancient artifacts such as fabric sewing scraps not even big enough for potholders, gigantic containers of plastic grocery bags cleverly salted away before Seattle banned them to hell, a whole case of prune juice, another full case of Kraft’s pretend-like Macaroni and Cheese (expiration date 2002), petrified used paint brushes, and so on. You get the picture! Nobody wants to depart from life underlining her role as a notorious slob.

Eileen disagreed with my plan. Eileen, at 91 years old, had been inhabiting her house a lot longer than my 50 years in this one. “That’s not for me!” she growled, firmly. “I’m leaving my house feet-first, and my kids will have to take care of whatever remains!”

Sadly, a few weeks ago, Eileen did exactly that. She died in her back yard, and I miss her a lot. Neither of us really expected to be moving out of our houses at the same time.

Ever since it happened, I can see all the activity across the street. Her family is emptying and readying the house for sale, while over here, I am doing the same in mine – with what I’m trying to pass off as my unselfish personal heroism and nobility. I know perfectly well, of course, that Eileen is having the last giggle at my expense.

Full disclosure: so okay, my kids have been up to their necks helping me, but still . . .

Today, the moving date got scheduled. For 5 days from now. So what, you may ask, am I doing with my feet up, blobbing on my iPad? BECAUSE OTHERWISE, MY HAIR WILL BE STANDING ON END, AND I’LL BE SUCKING MY THUMB!

By next week at this time, I’ll have either joined Eileen – or son Matthew and I will be new residents of Enumclaw, Washington. More to follow next week. I hope.

Oops! Almost forgot. . . . Happy 4th of July, everybody!