Something in the way we move
There is nothing I hate more than when I have to move. Moving to a new home or a new office is way too stressful for me. For me, life has been an endless series of moves.
My first big move was from the hills of West Virginia to San Francisco -- a culture shock of untold dimensions. Fresh out of college, my possessions were few, but my enthusiasm was high. I packed (seriously over-packed, actually) a U-Haul trailer and pulled it behind a four-cylinder economy car that barely moved itself. I had things tied to the top and packed tightly inside the car as well as the trailer. For most of the 2300 mile trip, I had to remain in third gear because I couldn't get up enough speed for the highest gear. I was a slow, mostly-uphill trip but we made it in four long days.
Five years later, we had a house full of stuff, including two children. We were preparing for a move from the Bay Area to Sacramento. After a few garage sales to lessen the load, we commandeered several friends and their vans to accompany the U-Haul truck. It took a few trips, but most of our growing number of possessions made it unscathed.
Five years later, we were doing it again. Do you see a pattern here? This time, we were moving to a bigger house. My family had grown by three more children; total of five. This time, we stayed about a dozen years, allowing our children to complete high school with minimal disruption. When the last child was headed off to college (Yes, we had to move their stuff), we sold the bigger house and moved to a new neighborhood across town. We remained in this new house for several more years before we undertook another big move again. This time, it was across country to Michigan.
The medical climate in California had gone into the toilet in the 1990's. HMOs were going bankrupt right and left. My PA wife and I just happened to work for one of them. Before we both lost our jobs, we decided to leave the state for greener pastures. I was leaving clinical practice for academia; going from the heat of California to the freezer of Central Michigan. Thinking I would not return, I took everything that wasn't tied down, and a few things (like a spa) that were. I gave away furniture and donated our third car to a charity. This time, someone else loaded up the truck. We took the precious things, including the parrot and the dog. The cat was adopted by friends at the request of both the parrot and the dog.
After moving about 25,000 pounds of "things" to Michigan and buying another house, we only stayed 18 months. The job (and the weather) was not to my liking, so we sold this house, packed a few tractor-trailer loads and headed back to California again. We still had our old house that we could not sell. It was rented (sort of) by someone that decided paying rent was optional. He left owing a few months back rent, but we had our home back again -- a bit dirtier and trashier than when we left, but our home, nonetheless.
Over the next few years, our former neighborhood had changed. There were new neighbors (noisy); more traffic; and more vandalism. I attributed the regular toilet-papering of my trees; the spray painting of my lawn with someone else's name, and egging of my garage doors to misguided teenagers. My next door neighbor was a Junior High teacher. It was time to move again.
My wife was not enthusiastic about moving, yet again. She had a five-minute commute and suggested that we put up a sign on the front lawn that pointed to our neighbor's house that said, "The teacher lives here". That may have solved the graffiti, but not the noise and traffic. I desperately wanted the quiet of the country and a few acres in which to putter. Mindless, purposeful puttering is important to men.
I found a wonderful house on three acres with an unobstructed view that extended hundreds of miles. It had just been reduced in price and it needed some puttering. My wife didn't even want to go see it, but she did. Much to her predetermined stance that she would not like it, she loved it. So, we moved.
Although we have debrided much of our things over the years, a vacuum was obviously created. I think we now have more stuff than ever before. I even had to build another garage to store it. Another move would be out of the question. I suspect my last move will be to the grave. When that day comes, I want to be cremated, put in a file box, and placed on one of my garage shelves, so someone else will have to move me...someday.
Related Topics:
Technorati Tags: moving, change, home, office
My first big move was from the hills of West Virginia to San Francisco -- a culture shock of untold dimensions. Fresh out of college, my possessions were few, but my enthusiasm was high. I packed (seriously over-packed, actually) a U-Haul trailer and pulled it behind a four-cylinder economy car that barely moved itself. I had things tied to the top and packed tightly inside the car as well as the trailer. For most of the 2300 mile trip, I had to remain in third gear because I couldn't get up enough speed for the highest gear. I was a slow, mostly-uphill trip but we made it in four long days.
Five years later, we had a house full of stuff, including two children. We were preparing for a move from the Bay Area to Sacramento. After a few garage sales to lessen the load, we commandeered several friends and their vans to accompany the U-Haul truck. It took a few trips, but most of our growing number of possessions made it unscathed.
Five years later, we were doing it again. Do you see a pattern here? This time, we were moving to a bigger house. My family had grown by three more children; total of five. This time, we stayed about a dozen years, allowing our children to complete high school with minimal disruption. When the last child was headed off to college (Yes, we had to move their stuff), we sold the bigger house and moved to a new neighborhood across town. We remained in this new house for several more years before we undertook another big move again. This time, it was across country to Michigan.
The medical climate in California had gone into the toilet in the 1990's. HMOs were going bankrupt right and left. My PA wife and I just happened to work for one of them. Before we both lost our jobs, we decided to leave the state for greener pastures. I was leaving clinical practice for academia; going from the heat of California to the freezer of Central Michigan. Thinking I would not return, I took everything that wasn't tied down, and a few things (like a spa) that were. I gave away furniture and donated our third car to a charity. This time, someone else loaded up the truck. We took the precious things, including the parrot and the dog. The cat was adopted by friends at the request of both the parrot and the dog.
After moving about 25,000 pounds of "things" to Michigan and buying another house, we only stayed 18 months. The job (and the weather) was not to my liking, so we sold this house, packed a few tractor-trailer loads and headed back to California again. We still had our old house that we could not sell. It was rented (sort of) by someone that decided paying rent was optional. He left owing a few months back rent, but we had our home back again -- a bit dirtier and trashier than when we left, but our home, nonetheless.
Over the next few years, our former neighborhood had changed. There were new neighbors (noisy); more traffic; and more vandalism. I attributed the regular toilet-papering of my trees; the spray painting of my lawn with someone else's name, and egging of my garage doors to misguided teenagers. My next door neighbor was a Junior High teacher. It was time to move again.
My wife was not enthusiastic about moving, yet again. She had a five-minute commute and suggested that we put up a sign on the front lawn that pointed to our neighbor's house that said, "The teacher lives here". That may have solved the graffiti, but not the noise and traffic. I desperately wanted the quiet of the country and a few acres in which to putter. Mindless, purposeful puttering is important to men.
I found a wonderful house on three acres with an unobstructed view that extended hundreds of miles. It had just been reduced in price and it needed some puttering. My wife didn't even want to go see it, but she did. Much to her predetermined stance that she would not like it, she loved it. So, we moved.
Although we have debrided much of our things over the years, a vacuum was obviously created. I think we now have more stuff than ever before. I even had to build another garage to store it. Another move would be out of the question. I suspect my last move will be to the grave. When that day comes, I want to be cremated, put in a file box, and placed on one of my garage shelves, so someone else will have to move me...someday.
Related Topics:
Technorati Tags: moving, change, home, office
3 Comments:
Ahhhh...moving. I grew up an Air Force brat and moved every year or two. When my dad retired, low and behold the whole family had that itch...never thought I'd want to again.
During our first several years of marriage, my husband and I moved 4 times. We have stayed in our current house for over 24 years. I think we've grown roots. We've toyed with moving when mortage rates were so low, but the thought of going through our stuff was overwhelming...besides, we have the house to ourselves again.
Funny thing is, our son was always lamenting that he never got to move when he was growing up. He waited until he was grown and out of the house. Now it's his turn to move every year or so for a while.
I just love reading your blogs! I hope you keep it up.
~Donna
Thank you, Donna....I appreciate your kind comments.
I know that story -- preacher's kids like me move a lot, too. In the 16 years I lived with my parents, we moved 6 times (though 2of those times it was within the same town). Then I moved out and lived in at least 5 places in 2 years until I met the man I married. We moved 14 times in 18 years, and since we parted I have lived in 6 locations in 9 years.
The good part is throwing out everything you don't need or really want and starting fresh with a (temporarily) stripped down lifestyle. Not for long, mind you, as my husband was a true pack-rat and gloried in clutter. All spaces existed to be filled!
The bad part is losing touch with old friends, which happens despite good intentions to stay in contact.
Now I have bought a smallish condo in a highrise. For the first time ever I could pick paint colours and lay flooring and renovate without answering to anyone, such as landlords, roommates, or spouse. It suits me perfectly and I hope to be here until I retire (though if I ever marry again that plan might go out the window).
At retirement I plan to move once more, going to a smaller community near the ocean where I already have some very good friends. There I will stay until I am finally packed off to a nursing home and thence to an urn!
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