Well, Mom sent an e-mail to say that she is back in VA, completely exhausted from all of the cleaning and packing and... well, more cleaning and packing (including the long and dreadful saga of the Grimiest Basement Stair Railing Ever), plus the drive down from NY.
My grandfather was, I think, quite happy to go live in a nice studio apartment at the senior living complex, where he could go get three meals a day without having to bother about fixing them himself, where there were people he could talk to and activities and free coffee
all the time, and not having to worry about mowing the lawn, or shoveling snow, while various other people took care of cleaning out the house and getting it ready to put on the market.
Of course, cleaning out the house that my grandparents had been living in since it was built back in the 1950s was... um... bound to be both full of
stuff (although not as full as it could have been, since my aunt cleaned out some things after my grandmother died fifteen years ago)...
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