Moving

Some of us are movers. Some of us are not. I'm a mover. I've moved more than forty times in my life. Six states. Nine schools in nine years. While in the process of moving, I will curse and swear that I will never move again.

Six months later, I'm ready to pack up and move on.

For a number of reasons (money, leases, time), that isn't practical. So I fall back on the old substitute. We rearrange the furniture. Maybe, we even rearrange the entire apartment. We've lived here eight years so you know it's way past rearranging time.

We are currently in the process of not only rearranging, but weeding out furniture, possessions, etc. It's not an overnight process, just as actual moving is not an overnight process. We have one rule. Nothing may be moved until it has a permanent home elsewhere. In other words, don't move all the stuff into the living room and hope we'll find someplace to put it later.

The spousal unit has a hard time with this rule. His idea of rearranging is to move everything out of his room and let me deal with it. Uh, no. I did that once. Never again. AND for one reason or another, he has one room and the rest of the apartment is my responsibility. I'm not quite sure how that happened.

He also believes that discarded furniture will magically move from the living room across the parking lot to the trash bin. No. It doesn't. Since we are getting up there in years and have no children at hand to move stuff like that, my idea is to ask one of the husky neighbor fellows to help us out--for a fee.

Heck. They might even want the furniture for their apartment since it's in good condition. We just don't need it. Or it's taking up room we would rather use in other ways.

But. When we're finally finished, it will make us feel like we live someplace new. And that will do until the next time we feel the urge to move.

anny