There's nothing like moving to remind one of just how much stuff one owns. Now that the last of our belongings has crossed the threshold to take up residence in one of the three rooms devoted nearly entirely to boxes I'm astonished and a little shamed to see so much. I made a remark about how embarrassed I am about the shear number of boxes and the three movers who overheard me rushed to tell me that ours was nowhere near as involved or stuff-ridden as most they have seen, a thought I found sweet but hard to believe. The new place is over twice as big as the old and I have absolutely no idea where we're going to put it all.

Then again, to be fair, I traded a fairly large, well-cabineted kitchen for one that is nearly fixture-free, and the basement here is fairly unusable for storage. But still.

So here we are, trying to figure it all out. I'll try to post some photos, although you know by now that I'm not so diligent about that. But I really would like to share this space with you. The original part of the house was built around 1800, as were most of the houses around (there are some gorgeously restored 250+ year old beauties nearby) and was fairly modest - two rooms down, one room up - with wide planked floors and half-log beam support underneath. The ceilings are low and there is precious little in the way of trimmings or superfluous decoration. The second construction added two rooms onto the front, one up and one down. These rooms have the deep window sills characteristic of builds circa 1840s and lovely molded plaster curving around the angles of the windows. The most recent addition to the house must have come after the family made a bit of coin (at least for their time) because the third floor and new wing not only more than doubled the size of the previous structure but also contains the dark hardwood moldings and small-plank floors typical of mid- to late-Victorian homes.

The overall effect seems to be jarring to visitors until we explain the evolution of the house, giving some kind of context for the mis-matched interiors that they may not even be conscious of noticing. After absorbing the history, almost everyone is charmed. Sure, there are soft spots in the floors and the walls aren't quite what you'd think of as level and there is that weird pattern in the floor of the Boy Wonder's bedroom that suggests generations of owners who stained around a succession of area rugs rather than just finish the whole floor but still we feel that the house is an amazing find and we feel lucky to be here. All told there are 15 rooms and three covered porches. The rooms on the third floor are not yet restored enough to be usable but I believe that they have the most potential for being made very beautiful as they have not been as "re-muddled" as those on the first two floors with overhead lighting and quirky painting choices (in terms of both colors and methods).

It's good to be home.

It ain't over yet, folks.

We've been in the Other House, kind of camping and kind of regular living. We've got silverware, pots and pans and towels and such. Of course, we've also got air mattresses, a sub-optimal telecommunications infrastructure and a regretable lack of appliances small and large.

This weekend, however craptastic I expect it to be, should bring an end to these conditions and usher in a new era. The rest of the Charlottesville house is going to be packed up and (finally) moved to what we should probably rename the New House. Brainiac also has to put in time at the lab and we're hoping to be able to get together with the one family we've not yet been able to catch up with in during the throes of this extended relocation period. And then back...home. To unpack, hang up, put away and just otherwise get back to normal. I'm very much looking forward to it and I know that the rest of the family is, too. "This doesn't feel like a regular house to me," said the Boy Wonder just last night. And I wonder how going back to the old place will affect Entropy Girl. It cannot be easy to experience these huge changes and have no way to communicating how they feel.

Overall, we've managed things reasonably well. We've got library cards, membership in the children's museum, a recycling and trash hauling contract and hours upon hours invested into figuring out high-speed internet access. Brainiac is completing is first full week at the new job and I've managed to keep up with my home and client responsibilities. Now, about this weekend...

As I type this, I am parenting via CRT (that is, cathode ray tube...or, letting my kids watch television) so that I can do some last minute moving-relating tasks. Like updating my blog. Ahem.

We're very much in triage mode at the moment, washing laundry, cleaning the fridge, packing clothes, finding the checkbook (which hasn't been seen in months), etc. Oh, and updating the blog. Anyway, the kids are watching Between the Lions before we go grab a brunch at IHOP and figure out how to pack all the stuff we need to - like the cat - into the cars and go. So you can see I have a lot of time for things like...updating the blog.

Aside: Dr. Ruth was just on Between the Lions. Now that's something I never expected.

Anyway, I managed to get all the empty canning jars in one place for the movers and even wrapped and placed inside the canning kettle my tools like the jar lifer, funnel and so forth. In theory, this means that once I find my canning kettle post-move, I'll be all ready to get started with...putting off my canning. Maybe next month.

In other news, the Boy Wonder asked me the other day how long it takes to drive to Rome. I explained that we could take a boat or a plane and perhaps might have a bit of driving after that, but that we could not drive to Rome from neither where we currently live nor where we'd be living. "But I thought all roads lead to Rome," he said plaintively, "Is that a lie?"

O.K., about the Freecycle thing. It's not that I'm so wedded to my stuff that I think it's so swell or anything and I'm so picky about the recipients - I am, after all, trying to get rid of it. And it's not that I'm trying to vet potential recipients - I don't care if they ebay it, set fire to it, drive around all day picking up free stuff in between visits to the bank to count their money, or whatever. I just want it gone and I don't want to put this perfectly good stuff into a landfill. It's as simple as that.

Some people I know are convinced that they must keep every object that they have ever owned, no matter how their lives or circumstances may have changed over the decades. And these are not people who have lived through an economic depression, refugee situation or any other circumstance where you might think that keeping all that stuff could be possibly classified under "Prudent". I am not one of these people. And, since I am only slightly sentimental, I have no problem in liberating from my drawers and closets items that have my life has finished with but which may find a valued existence elsewhere even if they allegedly signify something "special". Bridesmaid's dresses? Gone. A wedding present that, although lovely, I have never been able to use or even properly display and given by people who I can picture in my mind but haven't seen in 20 years and I'm not even sure they exchange Christmas cards with my parents anymore? See ya. The Ikea shelves I bought for my first apartment with my first post-college paycheck and which, despite being somewhat worn are still good looking and usable? Well....?

Actually, the Ikea shelves are among the things I'm trying to Freecycle. Along with a black lacquered armoir, maple headboard, desk chair, metal garage-type shelves, a box full of brand-new wrapping paper rolls, and six dining room chairs. Each of these offers (Freecycle-speak for "stuff I'm looking to get rid of") saw an enthusiastic response of upwards of a dozen or more e-mails. And each also had as many as five flake-outs before I finally gave up.

So it's the flake-outs that get me. They either finalize arrangements and don't ultimately show up or try to reorganize the whole thing - Wait, I want you to deliver it to me even though your post said it's for pick up? Can you throw in a few bucks so I can repaint? I'll come to your house at 11 p.m. to see if I want it for sure so be sure to be home. And so on. This is just a sample of the Freecycle madness I've experienced in the last week and I really am just so over it. The curb down by our mailbox is now serving the same function and with no effort from me other than to put the stuff out. Retro, maybe. But it works.

In an unrelated note, I've been informed that it's National DeLurking Week. So leave a comment, why don't you, and say hello!

I am so over Freecycle.



That is all. As you were.

At the moment I am struggling to focus on my keyboard through a Nyquil-induced haze that is preventing me from achieving my usual rapier wit and exquisitely expressive narrative skills. Forgive me while I look about and think to myself, in a somewhat cliche and mixed-metaphor-ridden fashion, "Be careful what you wish for, because at some point all the Things you think you want will happen all at once and you'll probably have a dreadful headcold - which you will generously and with great maternal love share with the children - so the whole mess will end up biting you in the butt."

And so it has. More of the Things have resolved (these include Brainiac's securing gainful post-graduate school employment and the fixing of a date for our persons - if not our stuff - to move permanently to The Other House), a fact that we would be celebrating if not for the astonishing amounts of mucous being collectively produced here at the current house.

The first visit from a moving company representative came today to give us an estimate of costs for transporting our rather motley collection of sprung-from-a-relative's-basement furniture to The Other House. (That he was nearly a half hour late does not inspire great confidence in his company's abilities in this area.) When I asked how long we could expect the 239 mile transport would take, he shrugged and said, seemingly surprised that I might consider the question at all, "Oh, three or four days. Or maybe six. Definitely not more than a week."