The insanity of moving out
Moving is disturbing!
After my house sold, I had just a few days to get out, which is just as well since moving, like removing a Band-Aid, is best if done quickly.
Moving requires one to confront years of bad decisions, the evidence of which has built up beneath the basement stairs. It reveals bad habits I didn’t even know I had.
Turtlenecks! I buy them, but never wear them. A year later, I forget that I never wear them, forget that I bought them, and buy some more!
When I moved, I collected two garbage bags worth of turtlenecks in the basement.
Chocolates. If only the people who gave me those nice boxes of chocolates knew where they ended up: in the unreachable, usually unused cupboards above the fridge.
Not all the chocolates are gifts. I buy some myself. The purchases come when little urchins impersonating the Little Match Girl knock on my door to raise funds for new band uniforms.
More chocolates in the cupboard.
I should just give the kids the money and send them packing, but that would expose the harmless charade of school fundraising ventures. Those kids are learning to sell, not beg!
Hickory Farms. Every Christmas brings at least one of their gift boxes into my possession. I never open them. The cheese and salami could be plastic for all I am concerned.
Writing utensils, especially Sharpie pens. I can never throw away even the most worn out. They litter the drawer off to the side of the fridge, that drawer in every kitchen that also holds scissors, old keys, coupons, an Allen wrench or two, and half dead AA batteries.
Once the collection of pencils, pens and markers reaches a critical mass, I bundle them with a rubber band and put them…someplace else, to be discovered on moving day.
Spices. I only use salt, pepper and garlic powder. While moving I discovered that, like turtlenecks, I must forget that I purchased nutmeg and purchase some more, especially if they are in the sale bin. Five bottles! And I don’t even make egg nog or pumpkin pie.
Anise, oregano, sage, Cajun spice, orange extract, vanilla extract, two jars of cardamom, paprika, fenugreek, tandoori — all have sat unused in the far corners of the cupboard shelf, probably for several years.
Cake mixes. I have yet to bake cake in my life, but there is always hope! So, cake mix boxes linger on the high shelf, right along with four boxes of Stove-top dressing which I bought on sale after the holidays.
Empty shampoo bottles. As with honey squeeze bottles and toothpaste, there’s always a little at the bottom!
My mother extended the life of Suave shampoo bottles at least two weeks by continually filling them with water. The savings from diluting our shampoo got us through the Great Depression of the 1970s.
Old habits die hard. Although I never diluted a shampoo bottle with water, I couldn’t bear to throw a bottle out with some still at the bottom. So the bottles bounced around in the cupboard under the vanity.
Confronting direct evidence of one’s odd habits makes moving a psychological event, and not a good one.
Dust bunnies under the couch. I thought sure I dusted under there at least once in the eleven years I lived in the house, but I was in denial.
Then, guilt. What about Christmas gifts meant as decorations, such as a statue of a cow that no amount of interior decorating savvy could cover? Where do you hide oversized ceramic gifts so they can be found and displayed when the gift-giver says she is coming over for coffee?
Grandma crocheted six afghans for me over the years, but all of them itch. Is it okay to put them in a garbage bag under the steps now that she’s in the nursing home? More guilt.
Hauling heavy boxes isn’t what bothers me most about moving.
No, the worst of it is the realization that I am not so far removed from people who keep fifty cats in the house.