It is two in the afternoon and the movers just left . . . promising to return in a couple hours for a second truckload. Who knew we had accumulated so much stuff in the almost ten years we’ve owned this house?

In the beginning, the house was so empty we could have played basketball in it. Then the furniture and the artwork and the accessories began to arrive one by one or in small groups: The red couch and chair for the family room; the dining set, the piano. Over the years we enjoyed seeing our home come together in terms of style and comfort and the things we liked. We settled in.

I turned sixty, and then sixty-five. I changed careers and learned the joys of piano lessons. Took up swimming and joined a book club. Earl turned seventy and we had a hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind mechanical clock made to mark the occasion too. We didn’t entertain a lot, but when we did the layout of our house made it effortless. We buried our own parents and saw four great grandchildren – all boys – join the family.

As the movers did their job this afternoon, I watched the house return to its former empty state. I remembered my decorator friend Lyn who helped me install the new carpet and window treatments and always encouraged the use of color. Which might be part of the reason why every room in this house was painted a different hue. Had she not passed away this spring, I would probably have called her to be with me today.

Instead I watched the movers alone and decided not to focus on what was leaving but what was staying behind and going to our new home. There are a few select pieces of furniture, much of our large artwork, various assorted signs such as the one that exclaims “Our gourmet kitchen is closed; try our famous peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” and my piano of course. And all the memories.

Especially the memories.

It’s two minutes before midnight, and I’m winding down. My days are beginning to have a routine to them. In the morning, visit the new home site and make sure the electrician and the plumber are working according to plans. In the afternoon, work. In the evening, meet with the packers who are packing our possessions so that we can accomplish everything in time for the moving truck that takes items to auction on Friday, also known as Day Seventeen. After that, collapse. Then do it again the next day.

Moving is like giving birth. You plan for it for a certain amount of time; yet, when it arrives you are amazed at the work involved. And how it upends your life. But you adjust. You also forget the painful parts, so that when you do it again you’re up for it. And then, when the actual time comes, the pain returns and you ask yourself, “What am I doing here?”

If I had given birth as many times as I’ve moved, I would probably have realized the work involved and done something about it. Maybe I would have even stayed put. But the gypsy in me forgets each time, and I set about packing and boxing with no regret. The truth is I set about childbirth the same way.

We have moved into high gear. Today three “packers” came to help us get ready to send all our furniture, knick knacks, and curios to the auctioneer this Friday. When they left, Earl said, “That was a brilliant idea. We could never have gotten this done by ourselves.”

I agree. First of all, when you’re boxing your own things there’s a tendency to recall how you acquired them, who gave them to you, why they’re important. The Father’s Day cards Earl received from his children and had framed fifteen years ago evoke such memories to him, but not to objective packers. The charming tea set I inherited from a father I never really knew makes me equally sentimental. Sendng them to auction becomes easier when you don’t dwell on the significance involved. When you’re not the one packing the items up. So, saying quickly, “That goes to auction” and then moving on works this time.

The other thing I’ve learned is that neither Earl nor I have the stamina we had for this sort of thing when we moved into our current home. We also have more possessions, having emptied both his and my parents’ homes and not really divesting ourselves of their treasures. Instead we dragged them home. In truth, our current residence has become a huge repository not only for our own memories, but also for our deceased parents’. I’ve determined that this move is one where we do not bring everyone else’s souvenirs along.

It’s a lot of hard work, but it feels great. And the packers are returning tomorrow and the next night to get the job done. When we pass on, I’m hoping our own children will thank us for it.

There are always glitches in construction projects no matter how professional the people involved are. The trick is to be aware of and anticipate this. I liken it to that children’s book of years passed called Where’s Waldo. Of course, he’s hiding somewhere on every cluttered page and the challenge is to find him. Today, we found the first Waldo.

I’d met with and asked for some additional work from the electrical contractor and was told it would be expensive. Since I’m all about words and their meanings, I asked for a dollar definition of “expensive.” When he told me what he thought it would be, I didn’t panic or pass out. Actually it seemed reasonable for someone like myself who is used to paying Chicago prices for such things.

That was before he put fingers to keyboard and created the itemized quote. That was before he called and said he had bad news. And it was definitely before he faxed the four page quote to me. Therein I found the first Waldo.

I had been ready to accept the original definition of “expensive,” but I’m not so sure about this new one that comes in about four times greater. I can’t reveal the actually dollar amounts here, because Earl reads my blog faithfully and I haven’t shared the news.
Instead, tomorrow I’m returning to the site and reviewing the quote. For instance, do we really need five extra outlets in a garage that accommodates two cars? Do we need an extra circuit wired for Earl’s pant presser? And what about the dimmer switches?

Fortunately, this news was offset by the fact that the four-inch baseboard I’m installing came in at $.86 a linear foot instead of the $1.46 I was expecting. I guess there are good Waldos too.

Mike, the man responsible for all the flowers at our current home, and I went to the next one this afternoon so we could plan what the new flower beds would look like. It probably seems excessive to be thinking tulips when we haven’t even moved in and the weather is headed south, but I am. I’m thinking day lilies and petunias and black eyed Susans too.

The thing is some of these plants need to be put in the ground in the fall, so I asked the builder if he’d mind if I got a head start on next spring’s garden even though he officially still owns the property. He said sure. So we didn’t let any grass grown under our feet, so to speak.

Sometimes it takes several years to finish a home, have each room decorated as you’d like, and the grounds reflect your personality. But this time, I’m doing it as quickly as possible. I understand the pitfalls of this approach. I understand that sometimes when you actually live in a space you get other ideas. And I also understand that most often you can’t plunk a ton of money on new furniture and fancy tulips at the same time you’re plunking money to get a mortgage.

But . . . I have been thinking about this project for over three years, ever since we put a deposit on the model of our choice in 2006. I have visited the site on a regular basis, memorized the features of the model, and asked a thousand questions. Additionally, this is the thirty-fifth move I’ve made in my lifetime, so I feel qualified to make rapid decisions. Finally, Earl and I are not getting younger; so I want to complete the purchase and decorating of our next home in record time to leave as many years as possible to enjoy it. Tulips in the spring will remind me of this.

When we put our house on the market almost a year and a half ago, we stripped it of many personal effects. The family photos that graced most of the rooms were put away. So too were the Hummels that once belonged to Earl’s mother. And my Winnie the Pooh collection that has ever only belonged to me. It felt strange to live in a place that didn’t reflect our personalities as much, but we became used to it. The cleaning ladies liked it, since they had less to dust.

Today we boxed the last book, some to go to auction and others to wait patiently to reappear in the new home. I had the same feeling that I had when the photos disappeared: that we were losing ourselves, somewhat like the Invisible Man. By the time we leave our current home, there will be little left to indicate that Earl and I ever lived here. Except I think I’ll program the front doorbell to play “The Notre Dame Fight Song,” in honor of his daughter who went there, not as a football star, and seemed to smile whenever she rang the bell.

The actual days of the week are blurring together, and I’m not always sure if it’s Monday or Thursday. But I think today is Thursday. And I know the date because I wrote it on the check that paid for our new Blackberrys® this morning.

Never having had a love affair with cell phones, I brought mine home and plopped it on the couch. I have a new cell number, I thought, but I never used the old cell number; so there’s no rush to let my friends and family know. Earl, on the other hand, is on the path called “learning curve.”

As if moving and new phones weren’t enough change in our lives, Earl gave me a Kindle® yesterday. I’d been on the fence about buying one, and probably would have opted out, in spite of the fact that Kindle®s could conceivably affect the number of trees that give up their natural state to become pages in a best seller. The thing is, I like holding a book in my hands.

However, while my new Blackberry® languishes, ignored, I have already figured out this other new piece of technology, found it to be simple and straightforward (Do you hear that AT&T?) and ordered my first book from the Kindle® store.

“You’re more interested in the Kindle® than you are in the cell phone,” Earl observed. He’d stuck his head in my office on the way to our bedroom to find me stretched on the floor reading. “I think it’s because you like books themselves better than phones.”

He’s probably right.

How excited I was to learn that everything in the new residence is on schedule; and, as of today, we should close in appropriate time to satisfy not only the new owners of our old home but also the lenders of our new. I love it when everything works!

That doesn’t mean there’s nothing left to do. In fact, Earl and our handyman Michael are bringing lost treasures from our storage shed to our garage so that we can cull them and determine what might be worth sending to the auction house. Or not. I never dreamed we had accumulated so much stuff in nine plus years, but we have.

This is the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere, so it’s a new experience for me. In the time we’ve been here, we’ve buried more than one parent and inherited that person’s history in the form of photo albums, legal documents, furniture, and newspaper clippings. What do we do with those items when we’re scaling down and don’t have storage space? Well, we’ve rented his and hers lockers to accept the historical excess and we’ll probably deal with it later. Or maybe our children will be more or less attached to the items when one of us passes away, and they’ll do a better job in less time. There’s solace in this when we pay the monthly locker rent.

I didn’t even acknowledge it, but while I was learning about smart phones and boxing books yesterday, autumn arrived. And summer departed.
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I normally take note of the date, even though the formal passing of the seasons rarely coincides with the Gregorian calendar or the temperatures of the month. What is noticeable, however, are the falling leaves. Oh they’re not falling like rain or snow – at least not yet – but they begin immediately to cover our lawn just after the man who mows it is finished.
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My various containers of plants also react. Some go to seed; others simply die off. Both are signals that summer’s growing season is over and we need to shut down for fall. This year, I’m shutting down for the last time in this house. It’s a bi-polar sort of things. On the one hand, I’m eager to be free of the work of an acre of manicured land. On the other, I’m reveling in the beauty of autumn on the St. Joseph River, realizing that this time next year it will be our new owner’s view.

There are other activities that go on in our lives outside the preparations to move on a 59 day schedule. For instance, today Earl and I decided to upgrade our aging cellphones to today’s technology by signing up for Blackberrys® That’s the easy part; it remains to be seen if we can actually learn how to use them to full advantage.

Blackberrys are not the most current edition of technology, but after reviewing the pros and cons we opted for them. Mostly because AT&T, the major competitor to Blackberry® in this area, doesn’t have the coverage that we want. Besides, the contract is only for two years; and who knows what telecommunications will be like then. Probably another entire learning curve for those of us on Medicare.

That said, we’re both excited to get our phones when we return to the vendor tomorrow, but for different reasons. I haven’t asked Earl his specific purposes, but I suspect they revolve around a lot of lost calls with our current provider, the ability to take photos, and the price. As for me, it’s all about checking email and downloading data because I really dislike talking, person to person, on a cellphone. I’m more about keeping up with email.

So tomorrow we pick up our new communication devices, begin emptying the locker we rented to store all the extraneous items we culled from our house when we put it on the market, and start purging our kitchen of knick knacks that won’t make the cut to our new condo. We’ll probably be trying to program our new Blackberrys® too.