We're Moving (Again!) by Nancy L. Eady

So, I’ve done everything humanly possible to make sure this didn’t happen. I didn’t change the shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets (we don’t have shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets for exactly that reason. My dishes and glasses haven’t suffered for lack of it.) We made sure we weren’t traveling on New Year’s Day. (This superstition may be restricted to my family, where we firmly believe that if you travel on New Year’s Day, you will move during the next year. I can’t even tell you where it started.)

When we moved into this house in May 2021, I swore it would be my last move ever. I even made sure I got to that last box that never gets unpacked and unpacked it over a year ago. And yet here we are – about to go through the whole moving process one more time.

After a long search, my husband has taken a job in another city about two hours north of where we live now. I’m not fond of the moving process, but I don’t mind where we’ll end up, becasue my mother and one of my sisters and her family live there. But I dread putting the house on the market, waiting for it to sell, packing up and moving, then looking for another house and moving into it, and spending hours unpacking again.            

My husband had a good idea to help with unpacking – invite all of my family over for Christmas dinner and to open gifts. Once we’ve finished with the gifts, we’ll tell them since they’ve gotten so good at unwrapping things, we have a surprise—and hand out boxes for unpacking. We could even throw in a “Dirty Santa” twist, where people get to swap the boxes before opening them. (Okay, we’ll probably not do that, but it was fun to think about!)

Late this spring, I went to my mom’s house and dug up several irises descended from irises my grandmother used to grow in Massachusetts and planted them on one side of the house. I figured since they didn’t bloom this spring, they wouldn’t bloom this fall. But two days ago, I walked outside and Grandma Caulfield’s irises were blooming. I thought it was a sweet way for the old house to wish me and my family well as we start this journey yet again.

What is your least favorite part of moving? Do you have a good story about moving? Any advice? I'd love to hear it.

THE UNEXPECTED TURN CONTINUES by Nancy L. Eady

 At the end of March, I wrote about the unexpected turn taking us from our long-time home in Tallassee, Alabama toward the Birmingham, Alabama area. Writing this towards the end of May, I am both impressed by our accomplishments and overwhelmed by what remains.

First, an update. Since April 20, we sold our house (twice), had one sales contract fall through, bought our new house (twice—we had to withdraw the first offer because of the first sales contract) and learned that with a little prayer and great mortgage company, it is possible to apply for and receive a mortgage loan in 19 days. I gave away 14 boxes of books to the local library in Tallassee, which was traumatic. We packed our old house ourselves in less than 19 days and we moved out of it three days ago, and into our new house yesterday. We learned Saturday night that you can run a Sleep Number bed without internet, and I learned (Mark already knew) that Dish TV would work without internet. I’m still looking forward to the arrival of the internet man tomorrow morning, though. I’m using my telephone hotspot right now, and it drains the battery.

You’d think I’d be feeling a great sense of accomplishment given all that we’ve gotten done so far, right? I would, except for the following:

Those of you who have moved before probably don’t think that looks too bad, as far as unpacking goes, but, like Bluebeard’s Castle, we have a room with a hidden secret.

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We had the movers store every box possible in the spare bedroom. Which was a wonderful idea until we discovered last night at nine that we couldn’t remember where the bedroom TV cord was packed. After about two hours of looking, we gave up. (We found it this morning—in one of our suitcases.)  

This is the first move for both dogs. They seem to be taking it well so far.

Darwin, who we think is 15 or 16, wondered why I was interrupting his nap for this picture.

Daisy, about 2, runs around on high alert, ready to sound the alarm should anything appear out of place. Obviously, the pillow and CPAP hose are highly suspicious objects, even though she saw the same things in the old house every day.

The good news is that it truly is downhill from here. Even though we have a lot of unpacking to do, we get to choose what and when we unpack. How will we know when we’re finished unpacking? When we reach the last box that gets moved from one place to another and never quite gets unpacked until the next move. We found the last box from our move into our Tallassee house (the move in 2006) in the coat closet while we were packing for this move. The box was still packed, but it had at least been opened.

And so it goes…

Unpacking Boxes and Stories

That sound you heard last week was me weeping. Finally, it was time to say farewell to Musty Manor, my glorious tumbledown seaside rental. It was a bit easier with the ceiling over our bed crumbling, but still, I didn’t know how deeply a person could love a house until I moved into the Manor. Sometimes love isn’t rational.

The good news is we found a house we really like. For now, I’m calling it Eunice’s House after the lady who lived there for close to thirty years. That’s what the neighbors call it, but eventually its real name will reveal itself to me.

Eunice’s House couldn’t be more different than Musty Manor, that charming oceanfront cottage built in the 1920s. Eunice’s house is a midcentury modern open plan ranch. One room flows into the other.  There are lots of windows – that’s similar to Musty Manor -- Oh, that’s right. I’ve moved on. No comparing. Ahem. There’s a nice deck and off the deck is a little tucked away slate patio surrounded by lots of plants. There are fun little accents and many closets in Eunice’s House.

Did I mention the closets? There are thirteen! Eunice liked her closets. I’m starting to think the name of the house will be Thirteen Closets, much in the way British stately homes were named for their attributes, like Twin Poplars or The Chimneys.

Even though it’s not a big house, it may be too much house for me. Well, the kitchen is anyway. The kitchen is huge! Wasted on me, but my gourmet cook daughter is enjoying it. If I’m being honest, all I need in a kitchen is a teapot and one shelf in the fridge for takeout.

For the past week, I’ve lived in a sea of packing boxes – I felt like Ms. Pacman navigating narrow alleys of cartons. The moving company packers were a creative lot, keeping things interesting by mixing and matching rooms and putting a surprise in several boxes. One box of pots and pans came with a bonus pair of black flip flops.

Writing time has been at a premium. Oh, I’ve thought about writing, and especially about deadlines. (Hyperventilates.) But I have to unpack those boxes.

Have you noticed that the term “unpack” has turned up with a new meaning? Among academics one “unpacks” the themes and threads of a novel. The new definition has moved into other fields. On the news the other day, a reporter said “investigators will work to unpack the killer’s motivation.”

So, I thought, as I unpacked dishes, is writing “packing” a story? Putting in all the things – character, theme, action, dialogue, drama, fun – that I want my reader to enjoy? If so, how do I avoid the black flip flop in the box of kitchenware?

I’ll be thinking of this as I unpack.

Do you have a story to share about moving?

For writers, what do you think is most important in packing your story?