As a child, I moved often. From Oklahoma to California, over to Arizona, and back to California, all the way to Missouri, down to Arkansas, back to California, a short jaunt to Texas, and then finally to the town where I now live. And, in each of those states, there were several dozen moves. Thirty to be exact.
I remember the process. Boxes littered rooms as mom and I loaded them with our possessions, wrapped paper around the delicate items, folded the tops onto themselves, and then stacked them up for the U-haul. We never used a moving company. Not once. Always a U-haul. Sometimes a trailer… others a truck… but never any other company.
I remember the odd sensation of wandering around a house and seeing most of the contents, gone. The phonograph no longer on that wall, the doily and Fenton glass basket boxed for the new house. Rooms seemed to echo. Everything was sparse.
That’s how I’ve felt for the past two days. Yep, I was moving. First, I packed up everything and put it in “boxes”. Then, I took the boxes to our storage unit. It took FOREVER. Just sayin’. By the time I got done moving everything, decluttering, and throwing away all the extraneous stuff of my “house”, it was time for the move. Of course, the landlord had to prepare the new “house” for occupancy. It had all kinds of stuff on the walls, furniture I didn’t need, and such. Once that was done, he kindly helped me move in. First he moved my big furniture. He set them exactly where I need them, and helped make sure the wires and cables were in place for things that had those, and anchored the bookshelves to the walls.
At last, I stepped in. I did all the work that my handy landlord couldn’t. I unpacked the boxes, put my things where I need them or used them, and now I’m all set.
I miss my old laptop… but this new one is a blessing. I’m already starting to feel “home” on it.