The experience of moving.

Packing for the big move has been a giant pain. My father was in the Army, and my childhood consisted of a big move every two or three years. One year I went to three different grade schools. It is only later in life that I realized that I had missed learning fractions. I didn’t think much about moving then, but I now appreciate what my parents went through.

My family was used to moving. We didn’t accumulate a lot of useless possessions. In some places we lived, we never fully unpacked. In contrast, Meredith and I have lived in the same house for 34 years. We raised two kids here. Over that time we’ve accumulated an incredible amount of crap. That’s a problem since our place in Georgia is smaller. So we’ve had to decide what to keep and what to throw out.

Some of the discard decisions have been easy. I have no use for the cheap trophies I got for running in the 10K Turkey Trot race 30 years ago. They only remind me that I would be lucky if I can run to the end of the street now. For the same reason, I’m not bringing my softball cleats. The last time I played softball was 20 years ago. I just don’t see me having a need to sprint to the fence line in north Georgia. Throwing out my stretch softball pants was a harder decision—in my mind, they make me look good from the waist down. Unfortunately, with my less than tight belly, I look like a large cork jammed in a small opening when I put them on. I resemble a cartoon caricature of Casey at the bat. I think I would look pretty ridiculous hoeing my garden dressed like the male lead in Swan Lake. It could cause rumors to spread around Fannin County about my sexuality. (I’ve given serious thought about wearing kilts while working in the garden, but more about that in a later blog.)

I’m pretty sure that a complete set of the 1956 Encyclopedia Britannica and the Harvard Classics will not be much help to me in north Georgia. They certainly didn’t help me much in west central Florida. I’ve tossed them.

I will not need the two 15-speed racing bicycles with skinny tires that I bought many years ago when Meredith and I had a brief fantasy about bicycle touring. That fell through when I discovered that bikes with skinny tires have skinny seats that do not conform to the male anatomy, at least to my male anatomy. I’m lucky I was able to have children after riding my bike. I’m moving to a hilly area and live on a gravel road. That, plus the fact that Meredith and I haven’t ridden them in three decades contributed to the decision to throw them out.

It was a no brainer to throw out the used polo mallet someone gave me a long time ago, even though it is a pretty neat thing. How many of you own a polo mallet?

Over the years people have given me every sort of attorney-related gift imaginable: little statues of lawyers, several variations on the scales of justice, paperweights that tell you that lawyers do it in their briefs; you name it, I’ve got it. I’m tossing all those. I don’t think I need to be reminded of what I did for a living for 37 years.

Other decisions on what to throw away or keep have been tougher, and I’m not sure that some of them are entirely defensible.

I’ve decided to keep the mounted six foot swordfish that I inherited from my long dead aunt. It doesn’t have any sentimental value, and it certainly is out of place with the rustic décor of the cabin (which I describe as rustic bunkhouse). However, I have this strange vision of it hanging on invisible wires among the trees beside the gravel road going down to my place. Maybe it will start rumors that there is a new type of Bigfoot in the area. Besides, I’d like to see how long it is before some myopic hunter mistakes it for a deer and shoots it. Won’t he be embarrassed?

Somewhere I acquired a battery operated, extremely realistic turtle that moves its feet and head and sings, “You got to slow down, you move too fast.” I can’t remember who gave it to me, but it’s so much better than Billy the Singing Bass. I’m debating whether to keep it, though I have no earthly idea of why.

Over the years, the kids have given Meredith a variety of carved or painted face masks from different cultures to decorate one of the walls in our Florida house. We have no place to put them in the cabin, and they would be as out of place as, say, a large mounted swordfish. However, I’ve decided to keep them to hang on the trees in the wood line next to the cabin. I’m hoping they will be a symbolic reminder of the living forest, though they could also freak me out on a dark night after one too many beers. I’ll just have to see.

I have no doubt that when I finally get to Mineral Bluff and start to unpack I will realize that I kept way too many things.