There’s nothing like moving cross country to make your reassess your priorities. Since we have no way of knowing at this point what size of apt or other living arrangement we might end up in, we’re only taking a sort of distilled version of our household with us when we head off to Asheville. Being in our late 30’s means that we have a full household of goods, most of which are peripheral to basic survival (artwork, reference materials, hubby’s electronic keyboard).
Since we decided to only take the stuff we either really need or really, really want to have on hand with us, so as to not show up to a 700 square foot apt with 1000 square feet of stuff, it’s been a month of prioritizing, sorting, tossing, giving away and otherwise divesting ourselves of accumulated stuff-bloat and paring down our “take” pile to a reasonable-sized hoard. Of course, there may be further paring yet to do. We’re limiting ourselves to one pickup-bed-with-camper-shell full and so far the pile’s looking a wee bit on the heavy side, even after the purge, and we haven’t even added in hubby’s tools yet (yanno…the one’s he’ll need to work with in order to pay rent). But nothing makes you realize how well off you really are like realizing you have way more stuff than any two humans actually need to survive, and most of it is pure quality-of-life gravy stuff like nice artwork, maker-geek equipment, a full library of books and a smattering of grown-up toys.
Being able to ship a good-sized backseat full of stuff off to the Goodwill is a nice karma-kick, too.
(I read somewhere that three full house moves equals one house fire. I think we’re right on track with that, considering the massive quantity of life-barnacles we scraped off before we moved here.)
On a more disharmonic note, one of the biggest headaches du jour is the reality of finding a place to stay. We’ve decided that it’s just going to be more feasible to find a place after we get there, rather than try to go through the financial and other contortions of reserving apts long-distance, which means staying in a hotel for a few days (cats, gear and all) while we frantically scramble around town trying to find a suitable shack before hotel costs eat up our rent money. Unfortunately, it’s peak tourist season, so a week of hotel fees plus pet “deposits” (non-refundable) quickly exceeds more than a month’s apt rent. Let’s just say we are practicing our housing-review wind sprints in the hopes of breaking the current land-speed rental agreement record.
However, being female (and thus a prime target of violent crime by virtue of gender alone), I am adamant about seeing any housing in situ before I sign my name to a year’s lease. Those online photos are great, but they don’t show the crackhouse across the street or the biker bar at the end of the block. That’s one of the issues most men can ignore, but for which all females who do not look like Desiree here must always keep in the back of their minds (right behind their rear-facing eyeballs and adjacent to their baked-in future-predicting applications).
Other than that, the process is unfolding about as smoothly as possible. Most of our stuff is packed except for the kitchen and bath stuff that is in general use. That’ll be the last to wrap up. I’ve got my semi-annual shearing, er, haircut scheduled for Sat (It’s been growing out since I did my promo pics in Feb, and I’m beginning to look a little Beatle-ish around the edges). Next up is a visit to the eye doc to get my corneas puffed and my pupils dilated (and to order a new set of contacts and glasses, since these are definitely past their sell-by date), an Independence-day holiday weekend with Dad, a free skin-cancer screening and a last minute spate of “round up the medical and vet records for the files” fun.
Busy month ahead. I’m holding out for a generous snifter of B&B, neat, when we land.