It’s 9:00pm and I am sitting on my love seat, borrowing an Internet connection from a neighbour. I have turned in my modem and discontinued my Internet service. My T.V. now lives in a large, padded box sitting quietly in my spare bedroom that once housed my sewing room. Also in that spare room is the bulk of what is left of my belongings.
Today was my last day at work. After work, I had a few errands to run. All those last minute little things one must do when moving out of their current area. I turned in my Internet modem, I closed accounts, I bought the last few things I needed to finish packing, I washed the car. Once home, I did laundry and turned to packing up the last of my things. I find I still need a box or two, but I can get those when I go pick up my moving truck in the morning. There always seems to be one more thing to do. Moving is like that.
I have moved a lot in my life. My best friend says I have gypsy blood and it makes me restless. My kids had to learn to make friends more often than other kids and they learned to make new rooms home on a regular basis as if we were a military family. In some ways I feel guilty about that – dragging them through my dis-connected life. Even though I tried to keep every new place home, I know it was tough on them.
I can’t tell you why I move so much. I have a list of every address I have lived at since I left home all those years ago. The list seems far too long for someone in their early 50’s. My childhood was stable. We lived in three different houses. Three. I don’t even remember the first one, only the the two that followed. My parents didn’t move until I was long gone from home. The last one to leave.
I have gotten good at packing. I seem to always get stuck doing it on my own with little or no help. But when the time comes for the actual move, help seems pop up in one form or another. Once, my son’s boss came and helped us move. Just the the three of us loading up the truck. It was tough, but we got it done! I am thankful for the people who have stepped up and helped me over the years. I have always tried to repay that by helping people I know load or unload.
This time, I have far less to load up. My ex is helping me out by taking me to pick up the truck and helping me load it up. My other best friend is bringing her son over to help ferry boxes down the stairs. There is no elevator here. You walk your stuff up or down two flights of stairs.
And here I go again. Moving to a new state, and later a new country. My kids are now adults. One has lived in the same place for years now, and is happy in her space.. The other? He is also a nomad, working as a traveling teacher, giving kids a taste of theatre in little towns all over South Dakota.
It seems this gypsy blood runs in the family.