Moving our Stuff

Moving. Relocation. These are the pleasant words we use to cover upheaval, catastrophe. There are so many changes all at once, like no other time in your life. We all have that friend or maybe you are her, who moved several times in her childhood, almost bragging about her many adventures in various states and countries, like anyone who has stayed in the same neighborhood for 20 years is somehow less. You are mentally begging her to show you some weakness, some real emotion of how hard it was to leave her life and build a new one.

          No matter if it’s been one move in a decade, or more, the exploding closets and cardboard fingercuts, the SORTING…create an unrest in your belly. Your mind is constantly revising The Move List. You find if you do not build in some horizontal time each day with a calming cup of tea or a kava pill it will literally all explode out of you and the movers will find a bloody mess when they arrive to remove you from what you know. Why must we keep our moments of tears and unsurity to ourselves? Do you think no one wants to know? Hmm, you may be right. It may take some extra social superskill to gauge a friend’s threshold limits of honesty. As I am about to do, I recommend you keep sharing! Think of it as a filtering process to find that one true nugget of friendship.  (Disclaimer: I may be wrong and compulsive sharing may lead to lonely weekends and loss of phone notifications.)

          Let’s go to my closet, shall we? I have about 6 feet of hanging rack on my side of our marital closet. No shelves, just the hangers. It was tight. I never wore some of it. I tried this thing where you put the freshly dried things in front so you can know what’s not been worn. I do keep everything in sections---not by color. I’ve seen that: whites, tans, yellows, oranges (ew), reds, purples (I don’t do this one either), browns and black. This system makes no sense to me. As in: Oh, the weather is rainy, I think I’ll wear a yellow top? Ludicrous. First comes function, then colormood, which I’ll explain in a sec.

          When I say function, I mean the actual physical structure of the fabric. 30 degrees outside =  long sleeves. This should be the clothing choices that make sense. At the end of the rack, I put hanging slacks and dresses and skirts---any long clothing that might be disturbed by rolling drawer carts on the floor below. So we’ll call that category “long stuff.” The order of the other groupings depend on the time of year. I keep what I use the most closer to the closet door. Tank tops in the summer, long sleeves in the winter. It makes sense. So as the seasons change, I just grab all my tanks and hang them behind the long sleeves. You get the idea. Pants and shorts get the same treatment.

          Next then comes the colormood. Once you have decided what you need to cover your body in order not to die outside, you assess your mood. How am I feeling this morning? Bad sleep morning-afters usually require a dark color and flowy pants. Comfortable and dark. Grrr. Sporadically I wake up remembering a vivid dream, which I immediately write into my dream-to-story notebook on my nightstand. These mornings are happy and energetic---so clothing choices would be made like so: It’s humid and cool, so layers will be more comfortable; red t-shirt with tan cardigan hoodie, with white jean jacket.

          There has recently been an exception to these rules. If I have had sugar the day before, I know I will be having hot flashes today. This requires a tank top and light button shirt as a jacket---no matter the weather. The flashes started about a year ago, so I have adjusted to this new routine also.

          Which brings us back to adjustments. Moving. Change of routines.

          You can see by my previous that I like organization. A place for everything. I can’t explain why this makes me so happy and relaxed, but it really, really does. And I’m pretty good at it. We are a family of four and I manage to remember where the paper clips are, extra school notebooks, where his wallet was last seen and to keep hair and teeth bands in their spots. (Yes, 50% of us are teenagers.)

          At first, when I started sorting our stuff, 8 months before our actual move, it was enjoyable and I liked it. If we had not used it in a year, it was either brought to Goodwill or put in the garage to be decided upon later. I did this in layers. I top-layered the whole 2000 square foot house: games, coats, shoes, towels, blankets. I sorted that top layer with no anxiety or negative emotion.

          Our move is to a no-season climate. Our current home is attacked by sub-zeros and lightening, blizzards and tornadoes. We place our outdoor grills against the patio door, so the storms don’t blow them over the edge of the deck. Our cars, if left out of the garage, are covered with rain, snow, ice, bird poop or yellow pollen most days of the year. So, it is an adjustment to move into our new home, four states south. No shovels or salt necessary. There is no shock of pollen in spring, because there’s a steady flow all year long. This requires adjustment! Will I really only need 2 or 3 sweaters---or is that too much? What if we vacation in the north and I need this one pair of gloves? Will our boxes arrive only to be opened with a slap to the forehead? Sigh.

          The seasonal difference highlights a functional change in our closets. Much like the colormood of choosing daily outfits, there are emotional reasons we experience upheaval while sorting things for a move. I’m not emotionally attached to my 3 shovels but… do I really want to move 20 years of crates of both kids’ school memories? Can I filter that down to something more manageable---like 2 crates each? What if I throw away something that we’ll want to keep, in my frenzy to reduce our moving truck weight?

          So my process of elimination continues. Even the second and third cycle of elimination of closets wasn’t as painful. Recently, (I think) I finished filtering my clothes. I have kept out 14 t-shirts, 12 tank tops, only the pants I actually love to wear, and some dressy things for a cruise we’re going on the week before we move. (I know.) I packed my remaining winter things, and some other pieces I will keep but will go on the truck. One last time, I’ll pack another box or two, leaving just clothes for the 10 days we wait for the truck to arrive, which I will stuff into my car.

          What is erupting in me through this process is my relationship with each thing. I love this aqua-colored picture frame, though I've yet to stick a photo in it. My friends paid someone to hand stitch this queen-sized quilt for us before we got married. Do I need to keep it until I die, even if it’s mostly mauve? What’s the protocol here?! I love my friends, though I don’t see them anymore…I value our memories. Do I keep this because I might get Alzheimer’s and this will remind me of the ham salad we made in kindergarten in 1975? Where’s the line? Do I decide---do we all decide for ourselves where the line is between valued item and trash? I also see that having nothing to call my own as a child leaves me grasping for things decades later. (Don't touch that! It's mine!)
          I’m a writer. I’m writing a memoir. I don’t think I can throw away anything. Which means I pack it all.

???

          Time to get some calming tea.