When we sold our house and moved to Washington, DC in 2017, we spent months getting rid of “stuff”. Just before leaving, we invited the neighborhood over for a take-away-whatever-you-can-carry-event. The whole process was stressful. (I can see those of you who have been through it nodding your heads.)
Nine months later, we returned to Cambridge. That was stressful too, but the right decision for us. During that move, we got rid of more stuff. (We still have too much, but that’s another story.)
What this is about is my often futile searches for things I was sure I kept. How could I have no trays? Why is there only one of my favorite pair of silver candlesticks? I couldn’t find my flour sifter a couple of months ago that was from my long-ago-life with roommates—a real antique. That one had a happy ending—it had fallen off a Lazy Susan in the back of a kitchen corner cabinet.
The other day I tore the kitchen apart looking for my mortar and pestle for crushing fresh herbs. I never found it, but you’d be surprised what you can do with the back of a soup spoon.
I have learned that if your mover packs for you, those small balls of crushed paper you find in the boxes aren’t all just “filler”. They may contain a silver candle stick, a mortar and pestle and a hard-to-re-place light bulb.
It’s been fourteen months since our last move. Hmmm, I’m wondering where my high school yearbook is…