Moving

I am moving, a statement I made very often during my husband’s 30 years in the Marine Corps.   I just considered it a part of life, packed up our stuff, and went to a new house/state/country.  What was once something I took in my stride in my twenties, thirties and forties is looking a lot more daunting when I can see 80 from here. 

Let’s start with portals.  That was once a word of which I was confident I knew the meaning.  It was simply a door, with an old fashioned feel.  Exciting things would happen when you went through a portal like Narnia or Harry Potter’s train platform 9¾. Now it is a doorway on your computer into all the paper work needed by the settlement people, the moving company, and the realtor. No human wants to talk to you, and there are no actual pieces of paper to fill out.  Exciting things happen when you go through these portals as well, but not the kind you really want.  There is a lot of exclaiming, key banging, creating yet more passwords, swearing, and, if one is lucky, completion which is marked by singing one’s name with a finger which in no way looks like one’s real signature. 

Then there is the stuff.  I really thought we lived a fairly Spartan life, so where is all this stuff coming from?  Opening a drawer can cause heart palpitations as it is full of things that one was going to get to later and never did.  And now later is here.  Do we really need all these lamps?  Why are we not more like Abe Lincoln, reading by firelight instead of by all these pesky things with cords and bulbs and harps and shades?  Why do we have more than two dinner plates, two bowls and two glasses?  There are only two of us after all, and that should be all we need.  And why did we not strive for the minimalist look in decorating instead of hanging all these glass enclosed pictures on our walls?

But now all this stuff has to be put in boxes, and we are looking like people who had an epic party.  The best small boxes are from our local liquor store.  They are sturdy and have the added cachet of being free.  From where I sit at the moment in my office, I can see New Zealand wine, Russian Standard Vodka, gluten free Vodka, Bourbon Whiskey and Capa del Ora wine.  There are even more choices downstairs. But the real challenge is the boxes that come flat with sort-of instructions telling you how to put the box and lid together.  After the fourth box I got into the swing of it, but I think my swing might have been slightly off.  At least they are holding together and the tops are on. Time will tell. 

I think of one move that I made from Beirut, Lebanon to Jacksonville, North Carolina (Camp LeJeune) which involved not only moving a household but doing it with a one-year-old, a four year-old, and a seven-year-old.  There is no way I would have the energy for that today. I think I had better serve notice to my three unsuspecting daughters.  The next move is on you.