Can you all stand a post that has absolutely no redeeming social content or value? I hope so, because I need to memorialize the moment–and not so incidentally, vent.
As regular readers know, my husband and I recently moved. Being elderly folks, we downsized. Considerably. That process required that we get rid of a LOT of “stuff.” Divesting ourselves of that “stuff” was liberating–although deciding what would stay and what would go was difficult.
It’s easy to get caught up in the various traumas that always seem to accompany moving, and to defer recognition of larger changes and their meanings.
Among the aggravations: we employed a national moving company to pack us, move us (all of 8 blocks, from Indianapolis’ Old Northside historic district to an apartment in the very center of our downtown) and unpack us. Let me just say that what sounded like a great way to ease the process was less than fully satisfactory.
A fair number of things didn’t get packed, necessitating several trips back to the house to retrieve them. (One wonders how this works for people who were moving to another city or state…) Of those items that did get packed and moved, a few were damaged–and it’s always the things that have sentimental value and can’t be replaced…
Because we were moving a significant portion of an art collection amassed over forty-plus years, the movers had a third-party company crate several pieces. Sounded like a good idea. Unfortunately, once we were moved into our new digs, we were informed that the “craters” were on vacation, and it would be a couple of weeks before they returned and deigned to uncrate us…so until yesterday, large wooden crates made any use of our new living room impossible.
There have been other hiccups.
My car informed me that it requires maintenance–in the middle of the move. (I hate it that my car is smarter than I am…)
I took our bedspread to be cleaned just before the move; and when I retrieved it, found it had shrunk during the cleaning and no longer fit. (I didn’t even know spreads could shrink!)
We had great plans to fit out our closet with IKEA units–called PAX–but parts of the closet units remain unavailable thanks–no kidding– to the problems freight has experienced transiting the Suez Canal, so a significant portion of our clothing is sitting on the top of the dressers.
Our handyman–upon whom we are embarrassingly dependent–got sick, retarding a number of projects that would turn our new environment into a functioning home.
Our pathetic inability to understand technology meant that two of our sons (one of whom is a techie who lives in Amsterdam and another — a lawyer who has the misfortune to live vey close to his parental units) had to confer via smartphone and configure modems and routers and otherwise set up our office, a process that did not require but did enable an inordinate amount of eye-rolling and smart-ass commenting that I personally found excessive (albeit probably appropriate).
All in all, these and similar issues are what my youngest son calls “First World Problems.” He’s absolutely right, of course. When I am being rational (a relatively rare occurrence during the past several weeks), I realize how very fortunate we are, and how very minor these problems are in the scheme of things.
As we “settle in,” there will be time to consider just where we are in life’s journey–time to determine how we can most productively employ whatever talents we still possess in the time remaining to employ them. These are the sorts of turning points common to all humans who are fortunate enough to enjoy extended lifespans.
I probably should be embarrassed to admit that I find my “first world problems” sufficiently annoying to divert my attention from the politics and events that have long been the primary focus of this blog. I promise that–having vented– that focus will return tomorrow.
Thanks for indulging me!! I think I feel better….
Comments