Boxes and Boxes
When I first decided to move, I figured the most awful part would be saying goodbye to all the things I couldn’t take with me: the roses on the trellis against the back garden wall, the place next to the fridge in the kitchen where our initials are carved, surrounded by a large heart.
We’ve had some happy times here, you and me. It seems strange to even think of waking up elsewhere. Do you remember that time we invited Jean-Michel and Valerie, and we stayed up telling ghost stories all night, just like kids. And the fabulous dinner party, the one we held for your father’s sixtieth birthday. Foie gras, the leg of New Zealand lamb, and the Chateau Talbot 1962, so round and long in the mouth. A real family occasion. He must miss you, your Dad. You were always so close.
Wow, I feel quite teary at the idea of leaving this house, our dear little house. We’ve put so much work into it, so much of ourselves. Especially the garden. Old Mrs Merriweather from up the back commented on our “jardin d’amour” only yesterday. I gave her some of the oranges — a whole onion sack full — and I’ve still got too many left over. Maybe I’ll give them to the kindergarten. I don’t really have the courage to make any more conserves this year. Especially not with the move and all. There’s just too much to be done, all those boxes to be packed and you know, leaving a place that’s been special is emotionally quite stressful. So many memories.
I suppose the movers will be coming soon. I really don’t know how they’re going to move all those boxes. Did you realise there are twelve cartons of books alone? And all the kitchen stuff, including the apple jam I made, left over from last Spring. I don’t think you liked my apple jam. I never said anything but I was rather hurt that you were so mean about it in front of Marie and Claire, not to mention at the local fair when I came in third, only third. I know it was a joke and I was probably being too sensitive, just like always. Never mind. Never mind. There are five cartons of bits and pieces, and I’ve put all your workshop stuff out for the Salvation Army. I hope that’s OK. No, not all, in fact. I kept the circular saw and that ecological machine thing you use to shred all the old newspapers and cardboard. Wow, it really has a kick to it. Much more efficient than my mincer.
Oh, that’s the doorbell. Must be the movers. I hope they’re feeling strong. Are you sure you’re comfortable now? I really must close the top. I wouldn’t want you to fall out and get broken. Say good bye darling, to our little house.
Hello, hello, come in, yes this way. Apart from the furniture? Thirty six boxes. No, no, they’re pretty well packed. But please be careful with those two there, they’re quite fragile, all my conserves and patés. I often win prizes you know, at the local fair, for my conserves. My husband? No, he died recently. That’s why I’m moving.
