A few years ago, some friends of ours – people like us, who are youth of the sixties now in their sixties – moved from one home to another. As a recent move was for my husband and me, it wasn’t their only relocation in the past couple decades, and as we did, they moved about 40 years accumulation of ‘life stuff.’
They, too, completed a number of renovations to make the home their own.
As they had their home almost in order, I remember one of them saying something like, “This isn’t as easy as it was when we were younger. We’re not moving again until we have to move to the retirement home.”
At the time, I thought, “Aw, c’mon. You’re not old. Don’t start talking retirement home already.”
Over the past two years, my husband and I, with lots of help from family, friends, moving muscle, and renovation guys, have rehabbed two homes, sold one and moved to the other.
I am sure that in the past four decades, my husband and I were much less diligent about sorting through and letting go of things we accumulated than our friends were – though as the time to move got closer the letting go got easier.
We closed on our “old” home at the end of April and I moved to our new one. Because my husband wasn’t retiring until the end of June, he stayed behind in a small apartment for a couple months. As soon as we received the offer on our former home, we began moving things bit-by-bit to the new one. I put what I could away as I could, but was held back on doing all I needed to do because of the not-then-finished renovations.
I bought and assembled shelves for our storage areas, even sorting nuts and bolts by size into their little transparent plastic drawers.
But my not-so-small library, the books I use to study my passions and practice my trade, stood boxed on the bedroom floor, teetering a bit where one box was larger than the one upon which it set.
Within the past two months, I’ve painted, we’ve had flooring and carpet replaced and bookshelves put in place, and I’ve unpacked more boxes that I care to admit. My blogging, unfortunately, took a back seat to pulling our home together.
Finally, I can put words on paper again instead of paint on a wall. I’m looking forward to that.
I suspect we’ll never truly be “done” with all the things that make a house a home and give order to the chaos and clutter accumulated over a lifetime, but the crucial and cosmetic interior changes are completed. The bulk of the boxes are unpacked. The majority of the paintings hang on their new walls.
And, I feel as if making this next declaration is saying “I’m not as young as I used to be,” but I think I do agree with our friends.
They’re right. This moving stuff – it’s not so easy any more.
I may just stay put until I’m ready for the “young folk’s” home.
© Ann Tracy Mueller 2012