A week ago today we hauled the last of our possessions from our old house. I had wondered what might be the last item to leave the building, and it turned out to be some summer tablecloths that were hidden in a rarely used drawer. I probably wouldn’t even have missed them, since summer is a long way off.
Life is slowly returning to a normal routine. I’ve played piano and made it to the gym this week. Even signed up for swimming lessons. But there are still boxes in the garage to contend with. Yesterday, I lined them around the perimeter so that we could finally park our cars inside. In doing so, I counted them. It wasn’t a good idea.
There are twenty-seven to go. It’s true some must wait to be emptied until we get the additional shelving built for our office supplies. A few others contain books that are waiting for the new bookcase to show up. And at least two boxes contain framed photos of our family that await their designated place on a wall.
The rest are more problematic. I believe most came from Earl’s old office or from the various closets in the old house where he squirreled his possessions away. Yesterday morning, for instance, he asked me if I knew which box contained his long underwear. Today, he wondered which one held his credit card that used to live in the top drawer of a desk we sold. I can picture both items, but honestly I can’t pinpoint the box itself. And opening all of them will mean they’ll spread once again across the garage floor, undoing my parking efforts.
I’ve heard the old adage that if you don’t use something within a year, you should just pitch it. I won’t be surprised if this is the fate of some of the boxes currently insulating our cars from the cold.
Leave a Reply