A Moving Story

I've decided my posts are too long. Perhaps that's why I've neglected my blog lately. Long just takes way too long. And the days are getting shorter. That, and I've been spending most of the last week emptying out two packed storage lockers. 
          When it finally became obvious that the value of the objects within said lockers was far less than the cost of keeping them there for another decade, I contacted two sets of people who make a living emptying storage spaces and driving them someplace else. The first set of people are called MOVERS. The second set are called HAULERS. Their names have not so much to do with what they're moving as much as where they are going.
          Movers tend to go to homes. Haulers tend to go to the dump. Like the closet hoarder I tend to be, I decided to hire movers, so I could spend even more quality time with stuff I hadn't used in ten years by now storing it in my garage and basement. 
          Until I discovered that for two guys and a van it would cost me $120 an hour. So, except for one load -- thank you Danny -- I moved it all myself. Over the long weekend I loaded and unloaded my Explorer, trekking back and forth ten times, dismantling shelves, lifting boxes, toting furniture, and generally testing the warrantee on my two new hips. Not to mention the last vestiges of my back. 
          Quelle surprise! I didn't have to break out the Advil once. Considering that it used to take four capsules just to get me to the edge of the bed and putting on socks or shoes with laces was out of the question, this was a miracle. But the whole time I was doing my Jack LaLanne thing, I kept wondering whether I was tempting fate. I mean, did Noah have similar concerns when the boat was loaded with all those animals and he had to find a way to get the last two rhinos on board? Was he concerned that his trusty vessel would capsize? I know. Bad visual. Worse metaphor. But you get my drift. Especially if you have creaky knees, hips, or shoulders. Or replaced any of them. 
          I also didn't want to find myself writhing on YouTube or America's Funniest Videos flat on my back under a giant box that I had tried lifting into my SUV only to have the thing slip out of my hands and, well, you've seen all before so there's no sense trying to explain. [Can you tell I've been reading a lot of Frank McCourt lately?]
          Meanwhile, I have created two staging areas: the porch and the driveway. And two designated storage areas: the garage and the basement. I've reassembled three sets of shelves to accommodate those things which will remain. I've already donated a bunch of clothing, given my daughter's dollhouse to my neighbor's three-year-old, and filled two huge garbage cans with things I can't believe I kept for so long. I'm still undecided about the artificial Christmas tree that has its own lights and the five fake poinsettia plants. But, I'm willing to entertain ideas for creative ways to put them to good use.