They say that married people who want to stay together, should not do certain things together. Little things like hanging wall-paper, picking out paint colours or packing.
Little things get said, like: “It’s not straight. Do you not know that the word ‘hanging’ means up and down? Higher, higher. OMG! Now it’s too friggin’ high.” Or “Really? You like that yellow? Do you really want to wake up every morning and look at yellow in the bathroom?”
This brings us to packing-up and moving. Wrapping and breaking glass is just part of the stress festival. During the packing process, women and men have different opinions of what is valuable and what’s crap.
Just because your aunty Malinda gave you that leaky snow globe, from the time she went to Graceland doesn't give it the right to be in the same box as my assorted collection of sorted men’s magazines – ah, the memories.
Ah, the memories and mementos of our past lives. People takes pictures in front of famous monuments, eat at a different McDonald’s and buy snow globes, but pictures get stored away and forgotten, snow-globe-glass doesn't last forever and do you really want fries with that?
I’ve collected small rocks from around the world; I use them to decorate the top of a potted house plant. I see them every time I water, and the memories come flooding back.
How many times have you packed up and moved since you were a kid? How many times have you made friends and swore that you’d stay in touch, but you never do. How many schools, jobs or lovers have you seen fade away in the rear-view mirror?
Twenty-one times I’ve lay my head down in another town, but roots were just something I couldn’t grow. As soon as the chinook winds would blow and the last snows turned to puddles; something stirred, a yearning that came in the form of an audible sigh.
I hope that I never lose my wanderlust – even if I happen to grow old and grow roots.
Back to the pain of moving and a back that now cracks, a neck that pops and feet that bark – even through all this I still have a funny bone – it’s about the only part of me that doesn’t hurt.
I moved an entire house all by myself; my wife would have given me a hand if she hadn’t fallen the night before we were ready to pack.
I told her not to go down those dark stairs, three damned times. Not only did she go down she fell down and broke her arm. So instead of helping me she just barked orders at me – just to add insult to injury.
With a new view comes a new address to memorize, new neighbours to scope out, new schedules to work out, new places to shop, finding places to hide a broken snow globe etc.
There are a million details to think of like don’t forget to forward mail, all the hook-ups like gas, electricity, banking etc. As it turned out our previous internet/TV provider isn’t available in this area — that meant changing the email address (firstname.lastname@example.org), that meant that bills didn’t get paid on time and the deadline for my column came and went. (Did you miss me?)
Living out of boxes for days on end isn’t any fun; the next time I move it’ll be in a box that I won’t have to pack.