The movers are coming in waves, and the first arrived yesterday. Wrapping up, lifting and loading, we watched as they hoisted the days and years of our lives onto their truck.
This load will be going to Texas, with furniture for John Mark and Daniela, some dolls and other toys to be there waiting for little Maria when she arrives in February.
Later, there will be a truckload for Richmond and another for Florida.
It's not just these years in Alexandria that we are having to reckon with, It's the four and a half decades that we have been married. It seems that we are indeed hoarders and have never thrown anything away.
We have done our own packing, so that means every crammed drawer in every desk and dresser has to be opened and sifted through. Pictures, old letters stuffed in envelops with eight cents stamps. There's Audrey at the eighth-grade dance. Me, writing my parents from my first trip to Eagle Eyrie at thirteen, where I would first think about what it must be like to be the pastor of First Baptist Church…What had been only faded memories, I was suddenly holding with the details in my hands.
And then there's John Mark, a child again. Growing up before our eyes with every opened box from the attic. Moved from Danville intact, but not again. Report cards and SAT scores. Short stories scribbled and then discarded. Trophies for...everything.
It all set my mind to thinking about the mystery of time. How quickly it passes, of course. But also, how rich a run we have had of the years. Not too many regrets.
"We're really doing this, aren't we?", I asked Audrey as the truck pulled away.
Our house is still a jumbled, crowded mess, boxes, plates and antiques left to wait their turn. But whole rooms are standing empty now. Charles and Abdul didn't leave a scratch as far as we can tell. On the other end of their work, it will be a new life that's starting.
New, but not better. How could it be?
Once yesterday I felt a trace of moisture on my face.
A drop or two of rain, I think.
It had been predicted, you know.
This load will be going to Texas, with furniture for John Mark and Daniela, some dolls and other toys to be there waiting for little Maria when she arrives in February.
Later, there will be a truckload for Richmond and another for Florida.
It's not just these years in Alexandria that we are having to reckon with, It's the four and a half decades that we have been married. It seems that we are indeed hoarders and have never thrown anything away.
We have done our own packing, so that means every crammed drawer in every desk and dresser has to be opened and sifted through. Pictures, old letters stuffed in envelops with eight cents stamps. There's Audrey at the eighth-grade dance. Me, writing my parents from my first trip to Eagle Eyrie at thirteen, where I would first think about what it must be like to be the pastor of First Baptist Church…What had been only faded memories, I was suddenly holding with the details in my hands.
And then there's John Mark, a child again. Growing up before our eyes with every opened box from the attic. Moved from Danville intact, but not again. Report cards and SAT scores. Short stories scribbled and then discarded. Trophies for...everything.
It all set my mind to thinking about the mystery of time. How quickly it passes, of course. But also, how rich a run we have had of the years. Not too many regrets.
"We're really doing this, aren't we?", I asked Audrey as the truck pulled away.
Our house is still a jumbled, crowded mess, boxes, plates and antiques left to wait their turn. But whole rooms are standing empty now. Charles and Abdul didn't leave a scratch as far as we can tell. On the other end of their work, it will be a new life that's starting.
New, but not better. How could it be?
Once yesterday I felt a trace of moisture on my face.
A drop or two of rain, I think.
It had been predicted, you know.
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