I signed the lease on the new house last night and the moving company is sending over a packing crew today to basically pack everything that isn’t nailed down. I spent several hours last night cleaning out drawers and closets of clothes, old computer equipment, papers, and a lot of other stuff and made two piles: one in the garage that will go out for trash pick-up tomorrow, and the rest for Goodwill, which will be delivered today or tomorrow.
The instructions to the movers are simple: the only thing in the house that stays is the stove and the refrigerator. The rest is all mine and it all goes. I’m paying extra to have them do this, but I didn’t have the luxury that I did the last time I moved four years ago. Then I had a month between the time my friend said I could move in and the time I actually did, so I was able to do most of the packing and moving myself at the leisurely pace of a box or two on the way in to the office. This time I had less than a week from the time the bank’s attorney said they wouldn’t even consider the option of letting me stay here and work out a sale offer; I had to vacate the house or be evicted. (Coincidentally, the New York Times has a story today on what life is like in the eviction trade here in South Florida.)
So here we go again. By my count, this is the tenth time I’ve moved since 1982, when I moved to Boulder to go to grad school, and I had numerous moves before then, too. You think by now I’d get it down to a science, and I pretty much have. A lot of stuff that I boxed up the last time are still in those boxes, and they’ll likely remain so, but each time I get rid of more stuff. I’m a long way from being able to put all of my worldly goods in the back of my 1974 Jeep Wagoneer, but I keep getting more stuff, too, which is why I’m glad my new house has a bigger garage.