Two years ago yesterday we moved to our current home. We did not like it here. It was not the house we wanted to be in, yet, we had to move since the owners of our previous home wanted to live there. We understood why they wanted to be there, it is a great home.
So, anyhow, fast forward two years and I am again neck-deep in boxes. I really don’t mind and I haven’t wanted to dwell too much on here with moving, although when you are in the middle of it, it is what you think about and ultimately write about.
Yesterday, I jumped into the kitchen. Determined to whittle down what was in the cupboards to the bare minimal. We are hoping to close soon and I want to be able to throw what is remaining into a box and have it done with.
I am also sorting as I go. Pitching things that are way beyond useful and pulling out things that still have life to them to donate. I confess, I did hold on to a couple of small appliances that truly are past their prime, but still work well, although they do not look good.
But, for the most part, I looked at things critically to decide what went and what stayed. The thing that spoke the most to me was how often some of these things have been packed. I wrapped some things that were wedding gifts 40+ years ago. A cake plate. Given to us by our best man. I use it daily, well, it sits on my counter top. I love it. The lid that I now put on top of it belonged to another cake plate hubby got me a few years back. The plate itself didn’t last long, but the cover was heavy enough and it went with the original cake plate. I wrapped them both and prayed they wouldn’t be broken in this, their last move.
I did this often yesterday. Picked up a piece and wrapped it, and remembered how long I have had it, what the story behind it was and thought of the moves we have made over the years.
For some of these things, it is the 12th move. That’s not a large number considering we were military. But, having stayed in one place for 28 years, it is still a lot of moves. Memories crowded my mind and kept me company yesterday. It was an interesting day. I remember our first ‘official’ move. The one we did not do ourselves. The packers came in, they packed things up quickly and then looked around our little apartment. They wanted to take the furniture, which would have helped us, but, it was a furnished apartment. We had enough to fill a half of a crate. Up to that point, we thought we were overloaded with ‘stuff’.
This move will take a very large truck. We have a houseful of furniture and a storage shed. We will most likely take things we shouldn’t. Things that would be better tossed or donated. But, we have come to a point where we look at things and see a place and a point to keeping them. I am hoping it is not weariness guiding us, but, I have a feeling it is.
So, two years after being in this home, I have started to say good-bye to it. We didn’t start as friends, but, it now echoes memories and laughter and some tears. It amazes me how packing up a few dishes reveals the heart changes that happen.
Thanks for stopping by, DAF