fter 11 years in the same house, it was finally time to make a move. I had been very comfortable staying put after spending my childhood moving from coast-to-coast every other year. Stability felt good. As with many things, however, circumstances change and so must one’s address.
Forgotten were the memories of packing, stacking, and nerve wracking amounts of “stuff.” Gone are the days when I could shift a room full of furniture myself and face the next morning pain-free! This is a new, exhausting day, and I'm feeling it! See, previously my moves had been handled by the military and there wasn't much to worry about. This move, however, was different and I had lots to worry about.
Did I change my address on all of the necessary forms? Did I renew my driver's license, get new checks, and notify my daughter, Amber's school? Could I afford a move? Would the move affect my commute? Would Amber blame me later for becoming a latch-key child now? Would everything go smoothly?
Things did go smoothly. There were a few interesting moments, however, but all in all things went well, despite the fact that the movers arrived one hour late. Just before they arrived, I grew tired of waiting, left to run an errand, and actually passed them on the street trying to find my development. Once they arrived, however, they got right to work lugging our possessions out of the house and making them disappear in the black hole of the truck. There were only three movers and they weren't very big. I wondered if they were up to the task. They were up to the task and worked tirelessly all day long.
Trying to stay out of their way, I took a seat and began watching T.V. Suddenly, I heard the door bell ring. It was the president of the homeowners association. He wanted to know if I knew anything about the lamppost that was laying across the next door neighbor's driveway. I peeped around the front of the house and had to admit that things weren't looking too good for the lamppost. I glanced at the big moving truck parked adjacent to the driveway in question and then glanced back at the fallen light. It was pretty clear what probably happened, but since I didn't actually see it happen, I wasn't going to accuse my movers! After all, they were finally present and accounted for, and very busy! I wasn't about to do anything that might keep them from finishing the task at hand. “Nope!” I said, “I don't know how that happened, and frankly, we're a little busy right now.” Naturally, the movers stated that they knew about the ill-placed lamppost, and we all suggested that perhaps it was the trash trucks that caused the damage. Mind you, those same trash trucks picked up trash twice a week, every week, to date, and have never knocked down any street lights, run into any parked cars, or maimed/killed any pets or small children. Therefore, I'm sure that they didn't do it. At any rate, I discretely passed along the moving company's contact information to the homeowner association president and am sure that either DOT or perhaps the moving company's insurance company will replace the light all in good time.
Fast forward to my new residence. The movers marveled over how much “stuff” I had and asked if it would fit. What comedians! “Of course it will fit,” I reassured them. It didn't. Right now, I have boxes stashed on my patio because my storage unit is full. There's no more closet space nor room under the bed. I began to wonder just what was taking place at night as I slept. My boxes seem to multiply and I have no explanation for that! Drastic decisions had to be made and I found myself ripping the boxes open, declaring the items in them unnecessary, and throwing them away. This ritual has been going on nightly for the past week. My hope is to clear my patio for patio furniture rather than boxes and plastic tubs.
As I fall into bed each night around midnight, more exhausted than the night before, I dream of full body massages and spa treatments. I envision miraculous unpacking taking place and everything finding its rightful place without me actually having to do it myself. I awake to the truth. “Stuff” is still encircling me. Boxes are still beckoning me to open them, and time is quickly slipping away.
At this stage in my life, I'm not sure how many more moves I have left in me. I've faced the fact that this move certainly wasn't like the ones I made in my twenties, thirties, or even forties! No, this move was a lot less organized, a little more painful, and was a whole lot slower in terms of recuperation. I hope that this is it for me and that any future moves will be done by YOU !
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