Bombshells and Moving

Being overwhelmed has been an understatement of late.  I transferred with my job.  We moved AGAIN!  My family hates when we move.  But I feel  that we’ve finally found a place that we can call home.  The accommodations are just what we like.  We finally have the kids in a good school system.  Honey-do even found a part time job to make up the difference.  He finally has something to take a shower for. 


The understatement is not just because of my job.  It is because of all the bombshells that have hit since we moved.  The oldest heathen wonders whether she may be pregnant. Like when I found out I was pregnant with her, I am not ready for this but know this will change the dynamic if she is.  My mother-in-law is moving in due to health reasons.  And I am having health issues of my own.  I am going to have a colonoscopy tomorrow because my doctor wants to make sure that my only problem may be irritable bowel syndrome.  So I’m home from work today on a liquid only diet until this evening when I start the CLEAN OUT!  I am SO not ready for this latest adventure.


So in the spirit of my move, I dug up another poem I wrote over a decade ago about moving.  It seemed to fit my mood for the day because it’s been two months since the move, and we still have boxes everywhere.  I just don’t have time during the week to get anything done and with this huge house, I have little time on the weekends but to get the cleaning and normal chores done. 


Yippy skippy!!!  Enjoy!


Coming Home


Once again we’ve come to that point.

We’ll be packing up for another trip.

Into boxes our worldly possessions go.

Into the night we’ll travel like a wayward ship.


Pictures come off the wall

to be wound in bubble wrap.

Bicycles tossed into the pickup bed

and tied down with a strap.


Some cartons are filled with

knick knacks and such.

Others have photos of everyone

we love so much.


Plates, bowls, and coffee cups

Pots and pans and silverware

Sheets and towels

Even the clothes we wear.


We’ll leave the walls bare;

the windows wide open;

the floors won’t even have

a speck of dust I’m hoping.


We’ll leave this place

we’ve known for a year

to return to our home.

We’re just glad to leave here.


ã 2003


Documenting Life

In the past two years I have been purging my home of the vast collections of STUFF that has amassed over the years.  I have been accused of being a borderline hoarder.  Having moved around a lot and lived in different styles or types of housing, my only excuse has been “I never know what I’ll need in one place versus another.”  I’ve grown out of this saving of stuff habit, so I’ve been going through boxes or totes on a fairly regular basis.  Sometimes, I get rid of a lot of things; other times, it’s just a few things.  I’ve been so good at this process that honey-do mostly has his two car garage all to himself; meaning, the stuff in there is mostly all his.

My father passed away in 2009.  Since he rented his home, we had to hurry up and box up his stuff and add it to our stuff.  It took over a year for me to even begin looking through the boxes of his stuff.  It was just too hard.  I found myself crying over the simplest things.  For example, honey-do started looking through a box to see if my dad still had something that he had given him.  I burst into tears for no real reason.  But with the purging efforts, I am down to a relative few boxes compared to what we loaded up out of his house. 

With all this purging, the most interesting thing for me to find was pictures.  I found pictures of myself I didn’t know existed.  Or I’ve stumbled onto pictures of people that I had long since let slip my mind.  Or I realized that pictures I had were some that I had taken and my family was unaware of.

I write about this today because we are now in a world of selfies and constant connection with the world around us.  I recently connected with cousins of mine that I only remember from my childhood.  And looking back into photo albums and boxes has made me realize that my life is no where documented as much as my children.  I have also seen the loss of print film.  Looking at my hard drive the other day, I realized that as of 2002 all my photographs were digital in nature and loaded onto my computer.  I also regret not backing up my files regularly because there was a time that I had six month period of time where I had several hard drive crashes and a loss of data.  Data being my pictures and writing that I did not have a hard copy.  It fascinates me how quickly the world evolves when it comes to data. 


When I decided to start this blog, I wanted to write about my quirky family and the humor I find in the silly things we do. But this past week has been anything but silly. My 13 year old daughter’s best friend passed away from brain and spine cancer. Losing Abbi was like losing a member of my own family. And how can I teach my daughter how to deal with her death when I am not sure how I deal with it myself.

I tell her the old adage that time heals all wounds. I don’t think it heals really, just numbs. I find that talking about it helps, so I’ve shared that with her. I just worry about how this will impact her future. Will she be able to laugh without feeling guilty about it?