The last time I moved into a new house was 27 years ago. It was February, the sidewalks were icy, and one of the moving men slipped and dropped our sofa on his legs. I remember it as being both traumatic and exhausting. Charlie, who at that time was working full-time as an outstanding member of the educational community, had a meeting in Washington, DC two days after our move. He was to be gone an entire week.

As a result, I pushed him and our two daughters like some sort of slave driver. My goal was to have the entire house unpacked, all pictures hung, and boxes gone before Charlie left town. It nearly killed us, but we did it.

This time around, our children are grown and gone. So we were minus two able bodied workers. We began the move on a Friday, just as we did 27 years ago. Luckily, the weather was good. However, my goal was the same: the apartment had to be totally done by the following Thursday, Thanksgiving, because we were having the one local daughter and her husband over for the day. I wanted them to be wowed by the place. This time, we did have two additional days to accomplish this, but keep in mind that we are also 27 years older than we were that other time.

It is one hundred steps from the elevator to our front door. We both put in thousands of steps during that time, many of them lugging heavy boxes. At one point, I said to myself, “How on earth do farmers do this? The bending. The pulling. And what about athletes? All of the lifting weights, the lunging, and the hefting!” By the end of the second day of this, my back was on fire, my knees ached, and I had bruises on my thighs from banging lamp bases and picture frames against them.

But we did it! And it was a cordial and joyous process. However, we both agree that we will never move again voluntarily. The next move will involve wheelchairs and white coats.

Here are a couple of pictures of the apartment. Airy, bright, modern, and beautiful. I have a walk-in closet, for heaven’s sakes. An eight foot kitchen island! All new furniture! I pinch myself every day and wonder how long the novelty will last. I still feel as if I am visiting someone else’s house.

If you live in Dayton, come to our estate sale. The first day is December 12. Sofas, oriental rugs, lamps, dishes, silver, and all sorts of goodies. 625 Oakwood Avenue in Oakwood. You will find something you love, I am sure!

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