The Last Move

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How’s this for a shiny New Year’s Resolution: I will never, ever change residences again.
That is really more of a “life’s resolution.” Of course, I will move at least one more time – to the cemetery.

Don’t get me wrong. I love our new house; but that is not why I am steadfast in my commitment to never again box, bag or stuff my belongings into any sort of large vehicle.

In my last column, I spoke of the many duplicate items I discovered around my house during the packing process. I only thought I was overwhelmed at that point. I was living in my own little dreamland. Those were good days.

Then, my husband and I started moving our “pared down” collection of household goods into our new home. We decided to tackle the move ourselves, because we forgot that we’re in our 50s, and unable to haul multiple heavy boxes down flights of stairs and up a few more with the same vigor that we could, say, 20 years ago.

As for the whole “pared down” thing – well, I would toss my head back and give a hearty laugh at that one, if I could move my neck. We did get rid of a lot of stuff. A. Lot. Of. Stuff. Trailer loads, in fact.

The problem is, we really had no grasp on the degree to which we are both pack rats. I have been fooling myself, via buying organization products, for years now. Stacking, sorting and labeling things doesn’t mean you have fewer of them. It means these many, many things look more compact, tidier, if you will.

It took four solid days, a lot of help from friends and what was left of our sanity to finally haul the last box out of our former residence. I think things took a downturn after our home inspection. A couple of bats and dead mice in the attic, a piece of moldy drywall to replace, no big deal. Oh, of course the mold was caused by a tiny leak in the roof. We had to have those things taken care of. Minor setbacks, really.

If that threw a little monkey wrench into our plan to slowly, methodically transition from one house to the other, what came next was really more of a wrecking ball.

While we worked on repairs, our realtor informed us that we would be closing on the home purchase two weeks earlier than we expected. The closing date was then less than a week away, throwing us into a scramble to not only move all of our worldly possessions out, but to clean up the aftermath.

At that point, I was feeling ill, literally. I went to the doctor, thinking the sinus infection I had been ignoring was just getting a little worse. I was kind of right: pneumonia. When you’re moving into a new house, I don’t recommend it.

Thanks to some amazing friends, we made it out alive and on time. The morning after the move, around 2am, I was heading into work when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a rather eager looking deer on the side of the road. I stopped abruptly, rolled down my window and yelled to the baffled creature, “Not today, buddy!”

He took off, so I think things are on the upswing. I keep a Gratitude Journal and, if I ever find which box it’s in, I will certainly make an entry about that close call.

Cheers to a New Year, full of plans that will include a monkey wrench, or a wrecking ball, or two.

 

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