On the MovePosted: August 9, 2009
A few thoughts based on our family’s move last week from Briarcliff Manor, New York to Hingham, Massachusetts:
1. It’s amazing how many random coins our old house contained. As we started the slow process of tossing our life’s belongings into boxes, the one constant was the overabundance of loose change. It’s everywhere. And not just in the standard places — on top of your dresser, that small dish where you dump your keys, under sofa cushions. I found coins under rugs, radiators, the refrigerator; I found coins in toy bins; I found coins in the garage; I found coins in medicine cabinets. I even found a few pennies lying around the house after the movers had taken everything out of the house and after I’d done my final sweeping. Whatever’s left (and I’m sure there’s something) I’ll just consider a tip for the next rector. And, no, this won’t come up the next time I preach on the Parable of the Lost Coin.
2. On the other end, I have a knack for losing scissors, box cutters, and knives — basically anything used to open and/or collapse cardboard boxes. Next time (and I hope that doesn’t happen for a VERY long time) I’m tying a pair of scissors around my waist. Either that or I’m hiring Edward Scissorhands as my personal moving valet. As I wandered amid the myriad boxes searching for a sharp object, I started daydreaming about inventing a switchblade-like moving aid I’d call the Jack in the Box Cutter. That’s when I knew it was time for more coffee.
3. Moving and blogging don’t mix. At least for me. It’s been over a week since I last wrote a blog post. It’s not that I wasn’t connected — Bryna had the Verizon guy out here the day after the move (for the record he looked nothing like the hip Verizon guy in the ads; more like the sad-sack cable installer dude). I just haven’t had the energy or inspiration to do anything but open boxes (when I could locate the scissors), hang pictures, eat, sleep, drink coffee, and give the boys some sorely needed attention. Oh, and go to the beach a few times since Hingham is on the water. But blogging, writing, etc. just wasn’t happening.
4. I’ve discovered the joys of the town dump. Sure, it’s officially called the “transfer station” (you transfer your trash and recyclables) but everyone here calls it the town dump. It’s a beautiful thing after a move because you can take all of your broken down boxes to the dump. Which means you don’t have to trip over boxes for two weeks until the next recycling day. More about the dump in the days ahead but it’s now my favorite place in Hingham. I mean besides my new church. Keep your eyes peeled for the first ever “Dump Eucharist” in the history of the Christian Church. Just kidding. As far as you know.
5. God bless anyone who is a professional mover. I can’t stand hauling my own stuff around let alone someone else’s. We had a great team of guys — we kept them hydrated and fed. But still, I can only imagine they’re ruing that 10% clergy discount after all the books they had to schlep around. Which reminds me that I really should recycle some of those books from college I’ve been carting around the country since 1991. I didn’t read them then; no reason to think I’ll crack them open now. At least the town dump has a dedicated section for books.
That’s all I’ve got for now. We’re still trying to settle into our new home — the St. John’s rectory is a beautifully restored 1789 farm house. My first Sunday is August 23rd. Which means there’s plenty of time for me to locate that box cutter.