Clearing Out and Moving On to Not-Quite-Retirement

My crochet business has been neglected lately and I'm getting more than a little cross about it as I have so many ideas I want to progress. I have managed to launch my latest blanket design. Smiling faces have been plastered all over it to spread a little joy and happiness. It's available in my Ravelry and Etsy shops. 

At the back end of last year, MTM’s employer decided to close the local office he works from (only 4 miles up the road). They tried to persuade him to relocate to their main base further away, but he wasn’t keen on a longer commute so, by mutual consent, he has now left their employ. 

We’ve resurrected our old limited company, Rauxa, and MTM is doing odd bits and pieces freelancing on a strictly part-time basis, picking and choosing projects that interest him. We always promised ourselves in NQR (Not-Quite-Retirement) that we would live closer to the sea, so we’ve been planning our escape to the coast. We want a smaller home, preferably all on one level for when (or if) mobility becomes an issue in the later part of life. 

Downsizing has meant a significant amount of our accumulated “stuff” has had to go. Our previous moves were always to similar-sized homes, so we’ve never had to do this quite so drastically before. 

The last four months have been something of a whirlwind of clearing out and getting the house and garden ready for sale. We’ve been living in a kind of messy, half-finished jobs chaos: the smell of paint, dust everywhere, and I’ve looked a right sight more than once—dead leaves in my hair, dirt under my fingernails, permanently in either gardening or decorating clothes. 

Shrubs have been pruned, old fern fronds cut back, borders weeded and mulched, the jetty cleared of winter debris, and steps, paths and lawn edging wire-brushed free of moss and algae. 

Pergola, decking and shed all repainted. 

The greenhouse is currently full of cuttings, pricked out seedlings and other tender plants, waiting patiently to go out into window boxes and pots when the frost risk has passed. That still needs a grand tidy up after they've been put out. 

Some of the jobs have been stressful and—if I’m honest—stressful and a little upsetting. 

My old lampwork studio has been dismantled, the contents sold, and the space converted into an insulated home office. I haven't made any beads for at least a couple of years, so it had been gently fading into disuse ... reclaiming the space was well overdue.

I spent so many happy years in that shed, turning glass, frit, and old bottles into beads—days spent listening to the radio or audiobooks, pausing to watch birds at the feeders or the river winding past with its wildlife: ducks, little egrets, moorhens, and the occasional flash of a kingfisher, each sighting is still such a thrill. Every spring, sheep and lambs would appear in the field across the water. Our dog Missy—and later Bongo—would lie in the sun outside the door on warm days. It was an idyllic way to live and it didn't have to stop during Covid.

Carefully labelling everything and packing it away for its new home was a melancholic task, but also therapeutic - it enabled a slow goodbye to a previous tranquil chapter of my life. I’m comforted by the thought that the jeweller who collected everything will put it to good use. 

My indoor craft room (the other one! the loft we converted ourselves), packed with supplies, has also had to be radically rationalised. I freely admit I am a hoarder when it comes to craft materials, and I wanted to keep it all—but realistically, there won't be room for everything. Plus it needed to look like a calm, less cluttered creative space for the estate agent photos in a few days time. Not everyone works in the rather disorganised chaos I do. 

I had a huge box of old wine corks I’d been saving for years—one day, I told myself, I’d turn them into a cork artwork or wrap them in crochet, fabric, or paint for a necklace. They went onto a local Facebook group as “free to collect”, and a gentleman arrived in a car to take them away. I have no idea what he’ll do with them. 

Some of my yarn stash has also been let go, sold off - again, Facebook to the rescue - at bargain prices. I still have plenty, but it’s now at least more organised—separating what I genuinely plan to use from my ongoing design projects (of which there are many… and one day I will finish them). 

My jewellery-making tools are mostly staying—I still make pieces for myself—but I had a mountain of empty boxes from my years selling at All Saints Art & Craft Market in Cambridge. As I’m not planning to sell again, those went via another Facebook group and found new homes, freeing up a huge amount of space. The multitudinous beads and crystals in their numerous tins are still under review… for now, they remain.

Three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves have already been rehomed via the local community page, collected by a woman who sent her husband with a van. The books they contained - so many books - were difficult to sort through, but I’m pleased to say the ones we could bear to part with have been donated to Coningsby Dog Rescue’s charity shop, where they’ll help support rescue dogs. 

We've changed the carpeting in the ensuite bathroom (very dated we're told), that's been replaced with vinyl. A brand new carpet was fitted in the lounge three days ago. Our estate agent—who describes the house as a “lifestyle property”—is taking photographs on Thursday. 

And it is a lifestyle house. I’ve lived an artisan's life here for thirteen years: first making jewellery with my lampwork beads, then focusing purely on bead-making, and more recently selling crochet designs online. 

Everything we’ve done to the house has been for us. We’ve loved it here - we still do - but through the process of letting go of possessions, the emotional detachment has begun. 

I feel exhausted, but also excited, by the prospect of a new chapter beginning. 

I’m (nearly) ready.