October 2021--Did I really cross the finish line? Or did I just pass the 10-mile marker in a 20-mile race?
I spent nearly a year (actually more) packing 34+ years of memories into boxes, bags, and bins. I thought I got everything tossed that I wasn’t going to need and promised myself (and my other half) I was only packing what I knew we would need. Hmmmm…….
Closing day came and it seemed like I was just whooshed out of the house as the new owner’s moving truck pulled into the driveway. I got the call from my closing attorney that the papers and check were ready for me to pick up. Got them and got on the highway.
As I was driving, I started thinking wow, that was the last time I would pull out of that garage, that was the last time I would sleep in that home, the last time I would grab the mail while chatting with my neighbors. This wasn’t my mailbox anymore and now they weren’t my neighbors.
Then it hit me—I had been living in that town since the early 1980s and was very involved in the community—especially the schools. I served as a school parent organization president and on the district’s executive board, volunteered for field trips, worked market days, was a founding member of the school’s foundation board, and basically helped wherever I could. I also helped at my church—teaching religious education, writing for the parish newsletter, and assisting with the 125th anniversary celebration. My husband was involved in the community, too, coaching youth sports for many years and serving on the youth sports association board.
I also worked for the village—helping with events, keeping local reporters up to date on municipal business and generally doing whatever was asked of me by the mayor, village manager and the trustees. Or, for that matter—whatever was asked of me by anyone.
It was—and still is—a great town, but we always knew that someday we would leave. And that someday wasn't too long ago.
I could see the turnover in the demographics in our subdivision. When we first moved in there, it was for the most part young families raising young children. Each driveway was filled with bikes, basketball hoops and big wheels. We often would talk about how someday those big wheels would be gone and replaced with cars. That someday came a while ago. For the past five or so years, older neighbors passed away, downsized, or moved to a state with warmer winters and cheaper taxes. And with each sale of a home, came new families—young families raising young children.
We knew our time here was drawing to a close. I think it hit me—I mean really hit me—when I was outside in the run with our dog. Although we were on a corner, you couldn’t see the run because of the landscaping. While standing there, I heard a young girl walking on the sidewalk ask her mom why the people in this house didn’t have any little kids. Her mom replied that she didn’t know. The young girl responded, “Maybe it’s because they’re old. Maybe they will move, and someone will live here with kids, and I’ll have new friends.” The little girl and her mom didn’t see me, and I couldn’t see them. But I could hear them, and I heard them loud and clear. Of course, we weren’t selling because of this little girl’s comments but those comments resonated with me. I wanted to yell over the top of the shrubs that we were going to move and I, too, hoped it would be a family with kids so she could have new friends. But I didn’t say a word. I just went back into the house and continued to pack up boxes.
Some of the boxes were going to local donation centers, some were going with me, and some were going to people I thought would like the things in them, while others were just going into the trash. (Word to the offspring: when you leave for college and/or move out, take your stuff. Your parents will love you for it and they’ll love you even more when the time comes to move out themselves.)
I thought I was doing a really good job cleaning out the closets, cabinets, drawers, and rooms in general. But it honestly seemed like just when I thought a room was done—bam, I would go back in there for one last look and there would be something left on a closet shelf or tucked away in a cabinet. Like a clown car—the stuff just kept coming.
When did I become such a saver? Ask my husband and he’ll tell you I’ve always been that way. He says boxes we moved from our first house to our second house remained unopened in the garage and then were moved to this house. He finally threw away or donated everything in those boxes. Then told me years later what he did and had a smirk on his face when he said I probably didn’t even remember what was in them and obviously didn’t need any of it. He was right. (He would be thrilled to hear me say that.)
So now as I moved full-time into what was once our weekend getaway—a place we’ve also been for decades—I felt confident I was only bringing here what we needed. Boy was I was wrong.
As we began the tedious task of unpacking, I began realizing there were still things that we didn’t need—so once again we were packing things back up and bringing them over to the local donation center. We had two toasters at each house—one was for regular use, and one needed to remain gluten free. Did we need four toasters? Nope. Two went to the donation center. And the pots and pans? My goodness—no way would I ever use all of them. And I certainly don’t have room for two-plus sets. Some went to the donation center; some went to a friend for her lake house and a couple went into the garbage. (I tried but just couldn’t scrape off the marks off after burning popcorn.)
Did I really cross the finish line? Or did I just pass the 10-mile marker in a 20-mile race?
We’ve been here for a month now and I’m still not done. I’m not procrastinating. I’m just doing it slowly and methodically. I want to be more organized this time around.
Like with our spices. (Spices? Who starts with the spices when they have several rooms full of boxes?) And wow—do we have spices—everything from A to Z and a whole lot in between. I got pie-shaped plastic bins that fit in corner lazy-Susan cabinets. One bin has all the ethnic food seasonings—like oregano, taco seasoning, chili powder, allspice, garlic salt. One has basics like salt and pepper. One has everything we’ll need to marinate meats on the grill, and the list goes on.
So, when you walk into the house, you’ll still see boxes all over the family room and wonder what I’ve been doing this past month. You might even secretly mutter under your breath about what a bad housekeeper I am.
But—when you open the corner cabinet (not sure how many people walk into someone’s house and head straight to the corner cabinet in the kitchen) and see how organized my spices are, you’ll be like "wow." I guarantee it. Well, ok, maybe not guarantee it—but I’m pretty sure you’ll be impressed—so impressed you’ll forget all about the boxes all over the family room area.
I’m going to still give myself a little more time. I’m excited to think I’ve passed the halfway mark. Don’t ask how I’m measuring how far I am. It’s more of a guesstimate. And who knows—maybe by this time next year, I truly will have crossed the finish line. For now I'll
take it one day at a time....
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