Moving Day approaches. Let’s see now, I’ve moved from Nashville to Truth or Consequences (T or C), to Hillsboro, to Ruidoso, to Ocean City, to Berlin, to Fenwick Island, to Hillsboro, all since 2010, & am now returning to T or C. That’s a LOT of boxes to tape.
I’ve given away stuff I’m now re-buying. I’ve invested, divested, shared, thrifted, lost, found…countless items. I have no idea why we need so much stuff, and, believe me, I have much less stuff than most people I know.
Some basic Laws of Moving I have learned:
- always buy the heavier duty tape – this is not a time to go for cheaper pricing
- don’t run out of tape – more than you need is just enough
- note where you put down your glasses every time you take them off
- ditto on the car keys
- keep track of friends, b/c they’re generally going out of town on move day
- always use good body mechanics
- don’t attempt to move without a strong back
- tape EVERYTHING you possibly can
- when pulling boxes out of the trash, make sure they have bottoms
- keep in mind Newton’s second principle: two items cannot occupy the same space at the same time
- this is a good time to consider an investment in robot tech
I’m sure there are a bunch more I could come up with, maybe something relating to gravity, inertia, stress factors concerning cardboard, how much you really want/need an item, and more. But I’m pretty certain you’ve learned them all through moving yourself. And if you’re one of those unusual folk who’ve stayed put for anything over twenty years, I have only a large well of empathy to tap on your behalf should this time ever come to your door.
Desperation sharpens the memory, but only in the desperate individual. My landlord said call him the day before to confirm the move; my hired helper said call him the day before to confirm the time to be here which I’ve just called & told him; the fella I’m buying the replacement (of the identical computer desk I gave away three years ago) said call him pre-move to remind him I’m coming to pick it up. Do men not come equipped with memories?
Reminds me of the story about the husband who, noticing he can’t sign on, calls out to his wife in the kitchen, “Honey, did you change the password?” To which she replies in her sweetest voice, “Yes, I did! It’s our anniversary date.”
My new place is a duplex, with a second floor & two bedrooms. It’s a real WOW after living with roommates, in motel rooms, in efficiencies – all of which have sprung furniture, with at least one chair where the seat can sink into the floor, with questionable mattresses & extra-cold kitchens. Where I am now, the drier is in the garage, a chill walk from the back swinging doors (which only open if you go through them with approximately the force of a battering ram in the hands of an invading, woad-painted army.) It is always interesting to see how other people live. But for at least a year of the lease, I can live with a view of the Caballo Mountains, topped by Turtleback, with a washer/dryer off the kitchen, a bath and a half plus a small graveled yard for outdoors living when the weather brings surcease instead of subzero.
I guess it just isn’t my gift in later life to stay in one place for long. I guess I’m still searching for the spot where I can stay for twenty years, after which they can just open a hole under the living room floor & bury me. No need for ceremony. Matter of fact, this new place was built atop a lube shop, so there’s already a nice big hole under there, tho the hydraulic lift is most likely gone. But that’s okay. Far more comfy than what I’m always telling people – “just toss me down the nearest elevator shaft.”
Wish me strength & fortitude, strong hands & good eyes. While you’re at it, wish me the ability to hammer in a straight nail as most of my pictures hang at a slight angle, like an earth tremor crossed under the floor before dawn. Wish me up a lot of energy over the next week. But I usually have the place together within 48 hours because after living in a roomful of boxes with a Libra’s keen sense for disorder as pain, it will be total pleasure to have my few things arrayed just how I want them.
With all the homelessness out there (I tell people to get to the Walmart they just make a left after the second panhandler up the road.) No disrespect here, just practical directions, really. (Once, passing through Nashville, I gave a woman in a wheelchair a bill as she sat on the corner in a steady rain. She peered into my car & asked sympathetically if I was living in it.)
One thing more: I would move forever if it meant more stories like these. Life isn’t static, but rotting out is exactly that. Each place gives me gifts of light, love, laughter, the chance to meet new people & hug old friends.
Enough sitting now. The boxes are starting to whisper again…
So very on point, which explains why when my husband says jokingly that we could probably get a good price for this home I love dearly, my standard reply is “once I’m dead you can do whatever you want with this house, but until then DONT even think I’m going to move again.” Good luck with move. Hope no snafus pop up and happiness is hiding behind your new front door.