Moving again. . . ça bouge encore

Change of address. . . . disconnect/connect utilities. . . .moving boxes. . . truck reservations-- this time with a company that provides safe vehicles that actually steer. Line up. . . no, not friends this time, but pay acquaintances. Once again, I am on the move and not quite sure how I will fill a 16-foot truck.

My move will be lean. My furniture is in my house (where I am moving). On my last move, I returned the borrowed family furniture—the beautiful but heavy, solid wood chests of drawers, desks and armoirs, not to mention the half canopy four poster bed. This move would be minimalistic—personal effects (especially clothes and shoes), kitchen things and my work. But then I dropped by my mom’s. She looked at the things I had stored at her house more than 18 months ago.

--What about this big orange ball? She referred to the air compressor belonging to my son. --Yes, I can take that. . . . --And these boxes? --Aren’t they yours? It was difficult to deny the 17th-century French books or history of the printing press were not mine. And the geotechnical engineering and marketing books. . . well, one kid has an engineering degree. . . . and the other is in marketing.

-And you know how much the kids enjoyed their dollhouses when they were growing up. . . . .You really should take those. . . . Mom referred to one dollhouse (my daughter’s) and one car garage. . . . She didn’t mention my childhood toys, stored in another closet of her house.

At least that 16-foot truck has a ramp.