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We’re moving again. Not really to Russia, I just have never had a reason to use this photo and this seemed like a good excuse.
But I digress. We’re moving again and it’s all my fault. My Darling One is kind and understanding and generous of heart and spirit and it really is all my fault. I think I inherited some sort of moving gene, or maybe I got it through osmosis given that my parents moved us every couple of years, although truth be told they had less options than I do, since my Dad was in the RAF and it’s part of the job. My siblings don’t appear to have inherited this gene…they tend to stay put. So it seems it’s only me.
We will have moved nine times in the past twelve years, counting this new one.
That’s a lot of packing and unpacking. Admittedly, we haven’t moved Countries, or mostly not even Cities, just to different parts of the same City. And this current move is just down the street.
I’m glad it’s not Countries. When I arrived here I had two suitcases, now we have an entire household to move. How did I accumulate so much, so quickly? I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with me and my moving, but I have noticed it’s getting harder to even contemplate, especially when I look at my pantry – and I know it’s pretty messy.
And we have eight bookcases and yes they’re full. And I have to clear out my closet…again.
The good news is that with all this moving we can’t possibly collect a lot of ‘stuff’ and Mothers Helping Mothers always do well out of our moves, as do Habitat for Humanity. But this might be the last time…at least for a couple of years or until My Darling One says enough, or failing that, until I really can’t be bothered. So it’s time for the general to saddle up and take over his new post, perhaps to stay awhile, who knows.