When HA and I first moved into our mainland house, it was chaotic. She had moved twice in just over a year. I had announced my retirement, trying to wind things down with my patients, covid was in full swing, and my practice was just wild. HA moved first, then coordinated the move of my life from the house where I’d lived for 18 years. I didn’t have the time to perform much triage, so we basically moved everything I owned and combined it with her household, then sorted it out later (much of it to donations, recycling, and landfill — I’d gathered a lot in my sessile 18 years).
It became a running joke whenever anyone said “Do you have any idea where the … is?” To answer with “Yeah, it’s in a box in the garage.”
This move has been different. We’ve gone through everything and pared stuff down a lot; which is good, as we’re downsizing from about 2,400 square feet to about 900. But there’s the added complication of the fact that everything that didn’t fit in checked baggage or carry-ons is destined for a shipping container that will spend weeks sailing across the ocean.
The biggest problem will be tools, as I’m building a garage and extensively renovating an outbuilding (“the studio”) and re-doing the solar power system which also means re-wiring the house.
I can already tell that, at least for the next couple of months, the automatic answer to “Where is…?” will be “It’s on the boat.”
—2p