Waiting on Number Three

Good and bad things come in threes, or so the saying goes. Packers come tomorrow, and we’re waiting for number three.

I thought I was so on top of things, and yesterday, what did I do? Leave my purse in a shopping cart at Target! Picture a calm–almost smug–ride home with a car full of drinks for movers, collapsible duffles and expensive cat food to go in air freight, followed by a string of scorching profanity as I pulled into the driveway and realized I didn’t have my purse!

Fortunately, an honest cart attendant turned it in, so it was waiting for me when I skidded into the parking lot. Major hassle averted!

But, then an hour or so later, my husband, who has played softball, soccer, and hockey, for heaven’s sakes, with no more than the occasional bloody nose, managed to slip while carrying a dorm fridge down the steps and break his ankle. Off we went to the ER, and now he’s on crutches for six weeks. So much for those hikes in the mountains, sigh. But, to tell you the truth, right now, just hanging out on the porch and playing Scrabble sounds alright to me. Punctuated by the occasional nap!

Why, you may ask, am I not frantically sorting stuff right now? Because I am plumb sorted out. Several hours ago, I started putting things in one of two categories: 1.) Keep and I Don’t Care Where it Goes, or 2.) Trash and Please Forgive Me for Not Recycling.

So, I’m sitting here amid the piles of undifferentiated Keepers, finishing off the last drops of Irish whiskey, making resolutions about this being my last move from the States to post ever, and wondering just what number three will be…




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