Anatomy of a Move
Let me start by saying that my next move will be to the old folks’ home or six feet under. In either case, I won’t be sorting and packing, just backing up the dumpster to get rid of everything. Someone else will be charged with this task.
The process began on August 30, 2014, when I signed a contract to build a new, single family home in the active adult community Canal Walk in Somerset. I already knew a bunch of people there, looked longingly at the many amenities and activities offered to residents, and relished the chance to select exactly what I wanted for the new home. I wouldn't have to worry about having the lawn cut, the driveway plowed or putting chlorine in the pool. I was excited!
Until I had to make the selections for every aspect of the house, that is. In one session, I had to make the initial selections on everything from the color of the roof and siding to the faucets on the bathtub. Kitchen cabinets (color, style, etc.) and their configuration (doors? drawers?), granite for the kitchen counters, fireplace surround, floors, carpet, tile – you name it, I had to choose it. At the end of the session, I thought my head would explode. And that doesn’t include lighting fixtures and extra electrical, both done separately (and at additional cost; oh, you want an outlet on that wall? Kaching!), and the trip to the lighting store to select fixtures. In a house of more than 2,500 square feet (I’m not exactly downsizing, though there won’t be a pool and spa to maintain), the developer gives you exactly six – count ‘em, six – recessed lights. By the time I got through, there were 35. You could do surgery in my new kitchen.
When you are building or remodeling, there is always the “You might as well” factor. This process adds beaucoup bucks to the bottom line, but, hey, it’s your last house and you might as well. So you have to specify the location of every outlet that you want that isn’t already provided, and move the ones that are smack behind the bed that you will never reach.
Then there was the cable, TV, alarm system and internet guy. Where will the TVs go? Wall mounted? High or low? I even had him run lines to the kitchen and the master bath – just in case. (I think we all now know how much TV I watch.) And in the office, where should I locate the hookup for the computer? And how was I supposed to figure that out nine months in advance?
With the selections made, I turned my attention to my current house. For months, my motto was, “Every time the garbage goes out, something must be in it.” Old photographs from the weddings of people who aren’t married to each other anymore, photo enlargements that had faded in their frames, gifts that people gave me that I was holding onto for sentimental reasons only – all got trashed. At least three different charities picked up bags of clothes and household items, and two local churches benefited from my purge. The garage sale in the spring sprung a few more items out of the house and netted enough income to barely pay for lunch. Then I gave away my stereo, my records and a bed, sold the living room furniture I didn’t need, and even parted with my beloved convertible.
I went through every file in the drawers, realizing that holding on to 15-year old tax returns and receipts from my last house seemed stupid (and I wondered how some of this stuff survived the last move, in 2007). There was a picture of the couches I bought for my first apartment, my entire collection of old TV Guide magazines and playbills from virtually every show I have ever scene – all sorted, recycled or retained.
Two old TVs in the basement that sat in the same spot since the movers placed them in 2007 (I couldn’t lift them) there were placed in my car by the power washing guy and taken to the recycling place, along with old cameras, house phones that didn’t work (was I thinking they would come back to life?), VCRs, chargers for things I didn’t own anymore, my old desktop computer and anything else that plugged in that I couldn’t use or sell (I sold a $200 video camera for a dollar and a Nikon camera for $75 on eBay). I sorted through Yankee candles and sold $25 jars for $1 just to lighten the load. I tested every pen in the house, threw out the bad ones and donated pens, pads and other office supplies to the Associate Alumnae of Douglass College. After a meeting, I smiled as I saw people walking out with my unwanted wrapping paper and gift bags, as well as a supply of huge napkins.
The purging continued uninterrupted for a year. Meanwhile, the house went on the market, which meant it couldn’t look like anyone actually lived here. Every day I faithfully hid my toothbrush and hairdryer, emptied the garbage, removed everything possible from the kitchen counters, and kept the place spotless. Not only did this exercise help market the place, but it showed me that I probably don’t need 20 knives in the kitchen drawer; in reality, just a few will do. Only Staples has more office supplies than I do, and who else has four – count ‘em, four – boxes labeled “HBA” (health and beauty aids)? My sister, whose help in this process was invaluable, found BAND-AID Brand Adhesive Bandages (I used to be responsible for defending the trademark, hence the formal name) that were so old they still had the string packing. We found antiseptic wipes from 1996. OK, those we didn’t keep or donate. They joined the ever present mountain of trash I left for the garbage guys every Sunday and Wednesday night.
I attacked the food situation with relish, eating what I had in the freezer not by choice but by expiration date. The pantry items began to dwindle and the ones that expired last year were responsibly recycled. I tossed out old spices and rethought whether I actually need the ones that had expired unopened. I stopped buying food, again learning that I don’t really need twelve cans of chicken broth in the pantry. It’s not like I live in Buffalo and a snowmaggedon will trap me inside for months.
No description of this process would be complete without considering my packing process. I feel like I am making a sequel to the movie “Still Alice” called “Still Packing,” and I will be doing just that until the last item is loaded on the moving truck next Monday.
If ever I thought I might be a little OCD, this packing experience proved the point. I was in search of the perfect box for everything, determined to group like things together (that’s why there is one box that contains knee braces, ankle supports, Ace bandages, wrist splints and a fold-up cane). I even had kept cartons from my last move, so it was possible to place my framed Lucy poster in its original, safely transported box. Things are carefully arranged in each inch of every box, wrapped in wrapping paper, bubble wrap or the newspapers I have not recycled in more than 6 months and buffered by throw pillows and blankets which I hope I can find again. My artwork looked like it was being wrapped for shipping to a museum. My precious collection of framed photos was wrapped in plain paper with each piece labeled. Every box is marked on the top, sides and end, so no matter how it is stacked, the contents are clearly visible. Instead of keeping a master list of what is in what box, I marked each with meaningful commentary, such as “Mom’s plate” or “Dad’s shoehorn.” And, recognizing but refusing to dispose of everything, I grouped things I thought of as extras in boxes that I can simply toss in six months if they haven’t been opened, like the kitchen gadgets I packed in the beginning and haven’t missed since they entered their cardboard casket. All I know if that every sentence I speak post-move will contain the words “I wonder where…” even though I’ll be talking to myself.
So pity the movers, and wish them well on the 21st, as they haul all of this stuff (in two trucks since the new street isn’t big enough for an 18-wheeler) to my new house. And then wish me luck as I spend the next six months looking for all of the things I can’t live without and can’t find.
Although I have moved before (this is my 5th move in 40 years and 4th house, two of which were brand new), this process revealed lot to me about myself and was, by far, my worst move ever – and it hasn’t actually taken place yet. Will I remember what I did with the chargers for the phone and laptop? Do I really have a use for five clock radios? Where is the TV remote? (Seriously, the brand new TV remote that didn’t work is missing in action.) And don't even get me started on the mortgage process. I would write a separate blog entry for that, but no one would want to read it.
So take my experience and project it on YOUR future: Do you really need that baby grand piano? The stroller you used for your now 40-year old son? Your report card from 3rd grade? START NOW by reviewing, reliving the moments and getting rid of everything you don’t absolutely need, use or love. I even trashed photo albums of vacations I took! Sell, donate and discard anything you can long before you are forced to pack it and move it. Take it from me – nobody needs this much stuff. I think I will confirm that when I begin to Unpack. Stay tuned.
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