I had ten minutes to clean out underneath my kitchen sink yesterday before the sink fell in and had to be re-glued. The left side has the usual, dish soap, a box of dishwashing detergent, flower food, and two special (empty) wine bottles I’d like to have cut down with labels to use as vases or planters.
The middle is our trash can, away from the dog’s prying nose. Right side is my ersatz tool box (hammer, screwdrivers, picture hangers, moving materials including rolls of really good tape, moving tape dispensers, locks, keys, plus pop-up sponges and plastic scrubbies for non-stick pans). Oh, also cable ties and who knows what else. I cleaned the entire cabinet before the gent who was helping us out with the sink had to get underneath to fix things. My husband’s three tool boxes are in storage so give me a hammer and a and a flat head and Phillips screwdriver and I’m good.
That was when I thought, why do we move? The last move we made was for three months. We stayed three years. It was furnished down to the last cup and spoon and we vowed not to get anything permanent. Yes, we bought great food, I cooked it and we and ate it. Perhaps over the years we each bought ten books, technical, mine cooking and his new computer languages. In the end, we were still able to place all our clothing (oh, we had to add to that for winter weather) and personal items, including the dog and her food and beds, into both cars to relocate. It all fit!
Moving has a purging effect. We do it every few years and I’m only stuck with some really old files because I’m afraid there are old photos, ideas, marriage certificate, car titles and otoher important stuff in there. Under the sink it was organized chaos. When my husband asks for regular tape you’d use for gift wrap, I get it for him from under the sink. I know where everything is.
You take the high road and I’ll take the low road….. old Scottish song about Loch Lomond, the best water in the world, take it from me living in Glasgow. Part of our marriage pact is that he gets whatever I need from up top, and I reach underneath to get tape, pots and pans. I equip every home to fit our reaching abilities. That would be important when we build our forever home.
Moving is a way of getting rid of stuff. I’ve already donated boxes and boxes of clothing and other items to charity. Still we have stuff. Another part of our agreement is no useless stuff. If I collect anything it’s books and art. And piles of paper. Food and my pantry are not part of the equation as they count as perishable and consumable. I do not need tiny figurines made of glass or clay.
A couple of years ago when I purged items, I found some art and made our bedroom a Tuscan retreat. He returned home after months on the road and said “You’re not moving, you’re nesting!” I told him anything I can see, I can pack. Now I collect boxes for everything. I need to at least break them down and take them to storage for later use.
Remember “have gun, will travel?” I have a professional moving tape dispenser and box cutter in the back pocket, ready to go! Purge and go! I love our place and our views but when I look underneath, I find stuff that’s got to go. I know how to pack a box, by now I should have a doctorate in moving. We can live wherever we want so have plotted a map by airport boarding statistics to get non-stop flights. We’re not only movers, we’re planners!
I should become a moving consultant. I mean it. Dad had a rule. Truck is here, unload, I’m going to check out the new job so unpack and have your bedrooms set up and boxes gone by dinner. Bye.
Aah, life. People here, if they move, they marry and move across the street from their parents. We lead a different life based on keeping our heads above water, and rarely get to see our parents or siblings. It’s a fact of life, like the kitchen sink. Cheers! Dee