Perhaps I should gather an interest in feathers? Maybe study 'foam through history'? As I write this, I am looking at a mound of liqueur cartons, all packed with books, and all needing moved to the new house. It's not all the books, but a good half of them.
Later, will come everything involved with shooting and hand loading. A truckload of steel, lead, copper, brass, and other assorted weighty items. Then... the safe... the bench.... the cabinets.... the shelves..... I only wish I had all the booze that originally came in the boxes!
Moving is not enjoyable, by any means, but it is freeing in a way. All the flotsam one collects in life can be sloughed off, leaving a solid core of whats valuable. The stray photo of a former love, slid between the books one day in the past, coming to light as the shelves are laid bare. Regarded... and allowed to fall away. A stack of correspondence, once thought valuable enough to keep, now deposited in the kindling box to be recycled into heat on a cold morning. As the cartons are filled and taped shut.... a thousand decisions are made on whats important, and what is simply a memory best left behind.
Moving is not fun.... but its a cleansing experience, making room in life for new beginnings, new adventures, and perhaps some peace.
Even though the new digs are rented, I am looking forward to being settled in there with great anticipation. Coming home to love and caring, to peace, to a place where drama is left between the pages of dusty tomes. Lighting a fire of the evening, and warming before the hearth with a glass of wine... and sharing it all.
Moving is not fun... but it's needful and worthwhile sometimes.