On moving
I’m such a shy, quiet person (really–I swear) that it often takes me spending a considerable amount of time with a new person before I reach that comfort zone where I can relax and call them a friend.
But that wasn’t the case with my loan officer, Lisa Ratliff, who I’ll meet face to face for the first time tomorrow when we close on our new house.
When Lisa called to say she needed documentation from me explaining why we’d chosen to move to a smaller, less expensive house, I said, “Less to clean.”
“I’m right there with ya,” Lisa said.
We were soon swapping stories about our shared dislike for cleaning. It seems we’ve both reached the age where we want fewer, simpler pieces of furniture, no knickknacks. In a nutshell—less surfaces to gather dust.
Said Lisa, “I tell people I don’t mind if they write in my dust just so long as they don’t date it.”
It was those words that prompted me to transfer Lisa from loan officer status right on over to friend. Whatever you need, Lisa. I’ve got your back.
I just hope if she needs something, that it is has nothing to do with cleaning or packing.
I’ve been in my Poca house for going on eleven years, and most of those years have been pretty lean. Yet in spite of my frugality, my home’s contents have multiplied in Tribble-like fashion. I can close the door to a sparse and organized closet only to find, upon reopening it later, that the contents have not only quadrupled, but have flung themselves about on the floor and in disorganized stacks almost up to the ceiling.
I’m not really a packrat. More like a magnet for clutter. Picture Pigpen from Peanuts, only instead of dust, my cloud involves reading material, unmatched socks, and a goodly bit of cat fur.
My mother is an admitted pack rat, but after a lifetime of fighting that natural inclination, she’s finally come to terms with the aggravating condition. Her solution? She’s decided it’s no longer her problem. Nope. That problem’s going to be one for me and my brother to deal with some day.
My friends Evelyn and Ted Smith of Charleston had the best idea I’ve ever encountered. When they decided to move from their home of many years about 10 years ago, they not only auctioned their house, but the contents as well. They kept what they deemed essential, and the rest was sold one lot at a time.
A Minnesota woman was recently in the news because of her attempt to sell most everything she owned all at once on eBay. She wanted to simplify her life so she could easily move to California with only her pets and a few pictures. Unfortunately, in spite of the media coverage, her attempt failed to generate the minimum bid set, so she’s brainstorming again.
Although her means are a bit extreme, I can understand what’s fueling her fire. I’ve long since lost track of the number of boxes we’ve packed. Most of it could become lost between here and there and I doubt I’d even know it was gone.
I’ve often heard friends and coworkers lamenting about elderly parents so set in their ways that they reject all attempts to move them closer to family or to smaller homes. But now, with my scores of boxes, I completely understand the reasoning behind the apparent stubbornness.
I doubt it has anything to do with being set in their ways, or with them loving their home or being extraordinarily comfortable there. It’s simply that moving would require them to deal with their stuff, so they’d rather stay where they are and allow it to be someone else’s problem someday.
