I don't dislike moving; I really hate it. In our lifetime, my wife and I have seen the back of a moving van nine times. For the first eight, we did the move without professional help. This time we acknowledged that younger people have stronger backs and contracted a professional moving company. We thought that was where those stronger backs were employed and were not disappointed. Moreover, we got to see how well our heavy furniture bent around corners.
Like anything else that is business, a contract was required with the moving company for services rendered. When all the bits and pieces were added together, we decided that to save a few bucks, we could do the light work ourselves.
During the process of boxing, bagging, and tagging we discovered some cute stuff that we had put away to make room for more cute stuff. It's amazing how much stuff two people can accumulate. But in the end, to eliminate clutter in the new house, some of that stuff had to go. It's odd how that stuff found its way into the neighbor's yard sale the following week. What's even more strange - that's the only stuff the neighbor sold.
No matter how you slice it or dice it, there is only so much stuff that you can jam into the back of a pickup truck at one time; we made fifteen trips with the "light stuff." And then reality hit home: that rickety, thread-worn recliner had to find its way to the nearest dumpster to await its spot in a local landfill; we had to say goodbye to that old friend.
I have decided that the next move will happen for only one reason: when the professionals arrive to haul my dead ass off to the undertaker's. Did I mention that I hate moving? You never will know what gets left behind for some guy to sell at a yard sale.
Copyright @2013/2015 Terry Unger
