So. Last day in my Wichita home. Except it isn’t really mine anymore, with all the stuff that made it a home now boxed up and crammed into a United Van Lines semi-trailer. Everything must go and everything has, except for some shelves and one bed we agreed to leave for the buyers. It’s down in the basement. That’s what I’ll be sleeping on tonight, in a ratty sleeping bag I managed to retrieve before the packers grabbed it.
I’ve been impressed with the speed and efficiency of the packers. Unlike me, they tend not to ruminate over old photographs discovered on certain shelves. They just wrap it and stow it. If I tell them to toss something out, they don’t argue, unlike those ghosts of times gone by. This is why we pay movers. They get it done in a couple of days. It’s all just stuff to them, none of it weighted down with memory and nostalgia. If I were doing this move myself, it might take a couple of months.
This morning I mowed the lawn for the last time. It’s the least I could do. That poor yard has been neglected over the past year, when I took a trip to Montana and then spent the last few months in Florida. It now seems kind of weedy and desolate. When we bought the place five years ago, the lawn was emerald green. The kind old guy who owned it before, dead these last three years, is probably rolling in his grave. He also grew beautiful roses. They didn’t survive either. One of these times, I’m going to get better at this stuff.
Anyway: So long, Wichita. It’s been a good place to live. We made a lot of great friends here. I’d say this is the last time I move, but I’m a realist and I’m not sure I want to die in the Sunshine State. I will say that I’m going to be a lot more thoughtful about the things I acquire. Nothing like a move to make you realize how useless most of it is.
It’s a cliche to say it, but I wouldn’t miss much of the stuff in that moving van, should it overturn and burn on the way to Jacksonville. All that really matters is the friends and the family, the folks we love. Too bad they can’t be induced to move along with us.
Vacationing with the folks
When Gravy Train is not enough
No place like Pyongyang for the holidays
In the land of rum and roosters
A little nostalgic for the future
We’ll be missing you. When our travels take us your way, I hope to share a pint and a few stories. And keep blogging! I always enjoy reading what you have to say.
Absolutely, Ken. Pints are on me in Jacksonville.
I have a feeling we’ll be visiting the Arb again, too.
Best wishes on your new digs
Thanks, Ryan. In Florida, the trick is making it through the summer. Everything else is gravy.
Yes. I’ve been down there in the summer. The heat’s almost unbearable during the day. I assume you’d get used to it if you lived there, but I’m a northerner haha. And at night it didn’t even cool down.