Packing up a house is never very pleasant. Even this place that I only visited a few
times has some memories and mute expressions of hope, plans that still speak out
from the bikes and the canoe oars and the dusty grill. Pack that up today and get it out of
here.
When I was younger I
packed up houses with a guy who bought estates and then auctioned the contents off. That was a sad, if anonymous
business. Someone has died. Someone else has sold the estate. Box up these things. Throw out those
things. Look, here’s the guys collection
of Playboys in five or six boxes. He’s
dead now. If he were here this would be a violation. But he's not.
I didn’t have much trouble
packing up a place in those days. I
didn’t think before lifting heavy things and walking up the stairs and down the
stairs, again and again. Today I can
feel my ligaments. I feel my ankle. I am conscious of not wanting to twist the
wrong way and pull something. That was
always possible in the past, but now it seems imminent. I go slowly. And I’m the young man on this job. But still, I go slowly because I know I need
to.
I must put more time into
stretching and balance this year.
Someone has mentioned a yoga teacher and this may be in my plans. I also know some basic stretches. I prefer to do my cardio and my weights but
none of those will matter if I pull something or worse. Why do I reject getting down on the
floor? It always takes an extra effort
to get down on the floor and into stretching.
Unpacking was easier. We drove down the City and unloaded
things. The small factory across the
street had some Chinese guys and I stated rather than asked in Chinese that this would be
OK, that we double park here and that we were troubling them. They
didn’t comment. All this felt comfortably Chinese. The new house needs
work. My sister will do the work. It will be a marvel when I see it next, I'm sure. That's who she is. The other place, was a dream deferred and
I’ll never see that house again.
Thursday 7/19/18
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