Moving is a Moving Experience!


Moving is a Moving Experience!   
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    
Depositing a life time accumulation into
an apartment is a moving experience!

The new drive way seemed excessively narrow. A telephone pole jumped out at my car leaving scratches which had to be removed and repainted  by professionals.           
                                      
Until I heard a scraping noises I was unaware of any damage done to my car. I still cannot understand how it could have happened, except that I was very tired from moving several car loads from our home to an apartment. I had deplored the fact that the pole kept me from getting a straight turn into the slot allotted for me at my new residence.

When I heard a loud sound I stopped the car, looked at it, and could see nothing. However, after going into my apartment,  then returning for something in the car I could see it was scratched–considerably, The word scratch may not be a strong enough word. If it had been done by a cat it would have been “clawed.”

My husband could not believe what he saw.  Could anyone come that close to a pole without taking the pole along?  He grumbled that it would cost $200. I hated the thought of it. But when the final analysis came, they added an extra zero on the end. Our insurance covers insults for anything that cost more than $500. Until recently our deductible has been $25. How were we to know?
                                
After a week and a half without a car I felt timid about driving, but picked up my car (and myself, after being told  what the sand and repaint job cost).  I had been carless for more than a week but, I also realized that the beast (fear) had to be confronted ASAP, so I crawled into my newly painted car and headed up back streets to our  new apartment.  Suddenly, startling numbers appeared on the dashboard. The speedometer read  50, and then 60!  Surely the numbers were incorrect.

Slowing my car as quickly as possible, with cars swerving around me, from both sides, I told myself  the Paint Shop must have tampered with my speedometer.  And while my mind was concentrating on this annoying turn of events.  I desperately tried to think how to explain what was happening without seeming to sound accusatory.

But before I did I noticed  KM below the speedometer. Something clicked in my mind and I realized that KM stood for kilometers. But I did not know how kilometers compared to miles, so  I didn’t know how fast I dared to wheel the car down the road.  As cars by passed me with drivers who were leering and probably cursing  “old ladies” who don’t keep up with the traffic,  I resolved to keep up with the traffic despite the speedometer showing 60 !

I have already learned, and I am not a slow learner, (though I have worked as a teacher of the learning disabled for years,) that downsizing is what people do when they move from a home with a basement, a second story, and a garage, plus the level they  spent most of their lives  for 52 years.

It isn’t the furniture that one parts with–it is the little souvenirs from countries such as a Cuckoo Clock from Germany, a La Manchu man from Spain, a chanticleer from Portugal, a St. Francis picture from Italy, a music box from Italy and Korea, masks from South Korea, brass lamp and vases from India, things from the Holy Land, the faces of Christ from all over, the poetry and cook books I love, the books on learning disabilities, some of which I wrote, and many of which I studied when I worked towards a degree in special education.

Yes, moving is a moving experience. As I reread proof that as president of the LD association I had contact with teachers, administrators, legislators, and hundreds of parents who had my phone call and had welcomed my advise.

I reread complementary letters from the Missionary League, of which I was a part, and had mementos from some of the dozens of refugees we helped. I wrote for a local newspaper, as well as the Northern Lights, our synod’s newsletter, where as editor I interviewed women from all over the district. I had saved what I had written.

I had entered contests in Penwomen, and received awards. Those could not be tossed aside.

Making it more difficult was the fact that I have started dozens of stories which have not been completed But those must not be tossed aside.

Moving is a  very moving experience!