After two and a half years of renting and looking, we have moved. And now we are rediscovering our former life as we open box, after box, after box. Despite the detailed inventory list of the items contained in each numbered box, I can’t remember what many of the descriptions refer to anymore. Each box always contains a surprise.
I wish one surprise would be the keys to my desk. At this point, I have searched the contents of more than twenty boxes to no avail. If we had resettled within six months, I’m certain I could remember where I packed them, but at this point I have no clue. I’m working on the “They will emerge” theory.
One delight to rediscover was an unboxed item, the molding from the door frame where we measured our growing children’s heights. The bottom was chewed by an over-eager Welsh terrier, but the rest remains intact. I’m sure it will bring yawns from my children, but my grandchildren will love it!
Some boxes also contain Star Wars characters and Barbie dolls. We have moved them across the breath of this country, from Narragansett Bay to Puget Sound, to adults whose interests have moved elsewhere, but the grandchildren will be intrigued, I hope.
Boxes also contain some things that should never have been moved. At the end of the madness called packing, it is much easier to pack than to make decisions. Now, we are faced with the folly of some of those choices.
In spite if all the human nonsense we uncover, it is a delight to finally find a nest on another shore. It is still unfamiliar, but all our children are here. We attend such magical events as pre-school graduation and Saturday morning soccer games. We would never be able to schedule cross country flights to participate in those occasions. Having been there, we know it was right to reduce our lives to boxes.
Now, what is in box number 87???