Monday, July 7, 2014
Moving day is tomorrow, and Dave and I have entered the final, frenzied stages of packing, where we don't know where anything is and we're sleeping on the floor. (The bed has been dismantled.) Nearly everything is in boxes but somehow the stuff just keeps coming.
One of my blog pals was correct when she said a couple of days ago that in her experience, packing starts out organized and by the end it's just a matter of pitching stuff into boxes. I began by packing objects of a type all together, clearly labeling the boxes with a Sharpie: photo albums, drinking glasses. Dave did some labeling of his own:
(Should there be a comma after "dishes"? I think so.)
However, the last box I packed contained two rugs, the dog bed, a camera bag, a picture, a library book and our plastic grocery bag holders. Oh, and a container of gardener's rooting gel. All organization is now out the window.
I spent yesterday afternoon cleaning the kitchen cabinets -- wiping down all the shelves and doors and door handles. You don't realize how grimy things have become until you take away all the objects and you're left with just the residue of daily life! I'll come back and do the rest of the cleaning tomorrow afternoon, and then we'll be done with this place.
(Top photo: Street art in Shoreditch, June 20.)