A Very Moving Experience

I've stopped sobbing uncontrollably. And for the most part, the constant pain in my lower spine and muscles in the back of my legs has eased enough as to allow me to think through a complete thought. I've resigned myself to the realization that I have too many broken electric gizmos that I'll never fix "one day when I get around to it," too many clothes that I'll never again wear even if they do still fit, which they don't, and too many unidentifiable things that have been gathering alien-looking dust balls in the garage.

I was going to do this move scientifically, you see. I was going to throw all the old junk away. I wasn't going to pack it up with the stuff I just absolutely HAD to save, even though I had forgotten about it 10 years ago. We'd lived in this old house ever since my Dad died over 20 years ago, and he lived in it for over 20 years before that. There was a LOT of stuff. The "scientific approach to moving" went out the window on the third full day of packing. The rule suddenly was PACK IT ALL PACK EVERYTHING JUST GET IT IN A BOX ON THE TRUCK.

At any rate, it's practically done. We've some assorted stuff still left to move, but the big stuff is finally in the new place. And of course we don't know where anything is. The standard answer to any question beginning "Do you know where the ..." is "It's in a box somewhere, I know I saw it just a few minutes ago ..."

By the way, moving over the Fourth of July weekend is really not a good idea. All your friends are "camping" all of a sudden. Even those who have never camped in their lives. But we do still have a few die-hard good friends and we'd like to thank good friend Don H. who saved us a lot of work with his truck and huge trailer. He even refused to accept gas money, and instead said "that's what friends are for."

And he's absolutely right.