As boxes get packed and memories stored safely away, I reflect on all the places we've lived over the last 20 odd years.
I still remember my first move into H's apartment in the summer of 1988. Back then everything I owned fit into our '78 264 GL Volvo. Those were the days...picking up and moving didn't require much planning or effort.
20 years later, a minimum of three packers will take entire day to pack our belongings. Geez, I feel like a hoarder, but really don't feel like we're attached to all that much. Except of course, for my books. Movers hate books...I learned this little fact years ago. In addition to my vintage dish collection. ;) I'm a sucker for anything 1950s/60s. Every new(old) dish that makes its way into our cupboard is proceeded by a lot of eye rolling on H's part. I can hardly blame him. The poor guy, he doesn't understand the love of vintage dishes.
I don't have much to pack before the movers arrive, just those "personal" items that are often kept in one's night table that you'd rather not have strangers seeing or touching. Oh, and my undies and bras. Don't know why but with each move more than a few seem to magically disappear. Ick.
Soon we'll be in another town and another state.
On a positive note, we have friends and family living waiting for us there. It'll be a relief to finally live close to family again...and good kind anyway!