Thank you Craig, wherever you are. You have saved our butts many times. When we moved here, you provided the crucial furniture items and now that we’re leaving, you are taking all the crap we don’t want away. The Curb Alert is brilliant. People drive up and take away it all. Even a broken refrigerator when we left Florida. In a matter of five minutes, all the crap you can’t believe you have is gone. Beautiful.

Even only living here a year I’m astounded at how much crap we have. Where does all this stuff come from? Packing is like a nightmare that never ends. Our moving quote was at 20 boxes and I’ll be amazed if we don’t have 40 when we’re done. Cha-ching. (Not to mention trying to get it all into the storage unit in Florida. Will probably require a bigger one. Cha-ching.) It took me several hours and five rounds at my closet to finally narrow down my clothing for the next four months into something that would fit into my suitcase. And narrowing down the shoes, oh my God. When I try to explain how difficult this is to Lawson he just looks at me like I’m crazy.

Beyond the basic necessities of having the right clothes for the occasion (which in our case includes everything from hanging out in 30-degree-temperature-weather in Missouri and Memphis to lounging on the boat in the tropical islands), there is all the sentimental stuff you encounter in the course of packing that you know you should probably get rid of but simply can’t. I think part of this is because you’ve been schlepping it around for so many years that it seems like getting rid of it now would be wrong somehow. I have memory boxes in the garage that Lawson totally rolls his eyes at but I can’t seem to throw away. I go through them each time we move and throw out a little more but I haven’t been able to just toss it into the fire pit. (Though I’ve fantasized about that; about being that light and free and totally void of history. Lawson did that when he left the design world behind and became a kayak coach. He paddled out to an island and burnt his portfolio. I can’t even imagine burning my portfolio. In fact I have print samples in a box downstairs from 1995.)

Luckily now we are in the digital world. Portfolios become manageable once you have a website – you just add the work on as you do it. And Facebook is a pack rat’s dream come true. You simply post and move on, and your whole life history is there. Though I have yet to totally embrace Facebook.

I’m sitting here in our empty bedroom looking at the pile beside me that has to fit into the car: books, workbooks and dvds for Tristan; bag o shoes; box of important papers; ceramic turkey Tristan made for Grammy; three neck pillows; i-pad and bag o medical supplies. And that is not even counting two suitcases, three pillows, bag o towels, hats, gloves, coats, laptop, cooler and liquor. How to leave behind whole bottles of the good stuff? Perhaps if the liquor doesn’t fit, it can become a Curb Alert bonus and add to our future good karma with Craig’s List. When we return from our hiatus, we’ll need it.