When I last moved five years ago, I thought I’d learned some lessons. Apparently not, which is why I find myself asking questions when I’m reaching for the bubble wrap and cardboard boxes in route to a new residence.
Question No. 1. Didn’t I buy a Kindle several years ago so I wouldn’t have to pack and move books? The answer to that is a resounding yes. So how did my tiny book collection — the few I saved from my parents –grow so quickly? And why didn’t I do a better job of giving the new members of my book family to the library when I finished reading them?
Since question No. 1 had several parts, I’m now onto question No. 4. When did books become so heavy? Or conversely when did I become so weak? The Story of Art, which was given to me as a gift, weighs 4 1/2 pounds. I realize that art through the centuries is a heavy subject, but this book is definitely a weighty tome. I’m sure I’ll never read it, so my plan is to return it to the generous gift giver and thank her profusely for lending it to me. Her house is filled with books. One more won’t make much difference even if she, too, decides to move.
The next question. What are all those kitchen gadgets in my drawers? And why did I buy them? Actually, I know why I bought them. There’s a charming kitchen/stuff store in Petoskey, Michigan. When we visit in the summer I find myself stuffing all kinds of items into my shopping basket. To be fair, I often use the special glasses designed to keep away the tears while chopping onions. They’re quite handy.
But I haven’t touched the strawberry-shaped gadget that removes the stem. I might use it if I thought of it. But it’s easier to chop the stems off with a knife. The fan I can attach to my cell phone appears helpful. But I’m confident that if I try to use it while talking, I’ll slice off half of my face. I’m also not sure about the two silver “paddles.” I think they’re for mixing flour and other ingredients. I should give them to someone who actually bakes.
Next. Why do I have so many dishes? I’m sure I got rid of several sets of dishware when I moved five years ago. I’ve long had a dish obsession — glassware too — but I swear I don’t remember buying these. There are two of us; ten at the most when we entertain. Would it be possible for me to pare down to a dozen dishes? Probably not.
Are their elves in my closet that manufacture clothing while I’m sleeping? Every time I shop and buy something new, I go through my closet and put together a sack for my cleaning lady. She either gives the items to her mother-in-law or to the local humane society. Still, the mover estimated I needed six clothing boxes — and that was just for storage.
And, then, where did all those shoes come from? When I moved the last time I bought a plastic bag with compartments for 26 pairs of shoes that can be hung on the closet door. That’s it, I told myself. That’s my limit. But when I look in my closet I see 22 shoe boxes stacked on the shelves. It’s those pesky elves again.
I’m not the only transgressor in the family. Why does my man have so many papers and files? Stacks and stacks of them. I have my old tax returns and the car title. Other than that, my paper goes into the recycling drawer. Speaking of which, he saved all the paper and boxes from our last move. I guess that’s good news.
When I asked him if he was going to get rid of some of his papers and start over, he just looked at me. I didn’t have to ask, I could hear the questions forming in his mind. What about all those books, kitchen gadgets, dishes, clothes and shoes? Sorry. I have no answers.