We are in the process of moving, not as hard for me as for most people because I have moved thirty times in my life. I actually believe I killed a Gypsy in a former life, and this is my punishment. I can’t even use the excuse that I was an Army Brat or that my Father was in the Foreign Service. I didn’t marry a serviceman or a diplomat. If I tried to explain all these moves my computer would run out of words, if that is a possibility. I will try to weave the stories of my adventures in relocating, into my future tales.
For today however, I’ll just take on this particular move. If you’ve packed up a household as often as I have, you can image I am pretty good at it and I also have not accumulated all kinds of superfluous stuff. No collections, no left over baby clothes from 1978, no souvenirs from trips taken years ago. With the advent of iPhoto, even most of the pictures of my family and my children are on the computer. I will say my one weakness is books and I have carted around the country, hundreds of books all read, but mostly kept because they make any place we live a real home.This picture, gives you an idea of what I am dealing with. I don’t need all these books, I have no wish to re-read them and now everyone reads on a Kindle or an iPad so I can not even loan them to friends. But these appear to be some type of symbol to me and I can’t seem to part with them.
All of the new houses on golf courses don’t have any walls and I am unwilling to compromise, so my husband and I just keep going around and around in circles.
When I was feeling particularly upset at the prospect of downsizing the other day, I came to the conclusion that this problem was a universal one, no new house has the closets and storage of older places and no matter how big your house the word downsizing means just that. I have decided to compare myself to Candy Spelling and come to grips with the fact no change in size will ever be easy. Poor Candy is going from 57,000 square feet to a mere15,500 square feet, I am sure she is telling her friends, I just don’t know where to put all this “stuff”. And to make her problems worse, the contractors can’t seem to finish those 15,500 square feet in her new two story penthouse and she is reduced to renting an apartment for $27,000.00 per month.
I have read that her dog, Madison is depressed by the move. Perhaps the Wheaton and I can share our Prozac, or maybe I can just come back as Candy’s pet and move right in with she and Madison. I bet I could disappear in that big condo and go undetected for months, but can I bring my books?