We’re four days out from the end of our Boston chapter, and the light at the end of the tunnel seems a hundred miles away. Putting things into boxes is the easy part. The hard part is filling up the box. It’s when the box is half full and you’re finished with a shelf or a room and you don’t know what else to put into it. It’s when a Winnie the Pooh pillow is crammed in with Christmas bulbs to fill up a box and then the box doesn’t close. It’s when you finally figure out how to get one pile away, only to find three more piles of clothes, collectibles, and a hundred memories waiting at your feet.
It’s the thousand niggling details that throw off your groove. How are you carrying your guitar? What are you going to do about these extra fold up chairs? Who can you give three bottles of toilet bowl cleaner to (and would they actually want it)?
It’s when the dog has diarrhea and is upset because the only home she’s ever known is in boxes and piles all over.
I shouldn’t complain though, we have found miracles along the way. One of the biggest worries we had was finding a home for all our furniture. I’m stupidly sentimental about physical objects because of the memories they contain–the dresser being the first big piece of furniture we bought together as a married couple, the TV that I promised Natalie that I would get her when we first moved to Boston and I had to research and save to buy on Black Friday after years of saving. But various members of the Chinese Branch came over to claim items they needed and all our furniture was accounted for.
One small miracle in itself was the timing of our move. One member and her family just purchased a home this month and were in need of furniture. We were moving to another country and needed to get rid of all our furniture. A perfect match. They were as ecstatic as we were to find a home for our stuff. I’m grateful for that tender mercy–knowing that the furniture that helped make our life happy is going to a good place.
Things just have a way of working themselves out.