By now, most of you know that I have been right sizing in preparation of my imminent move to the newly built, "Hacienda at the Canyon Senior Residence.” It’s been over two years in the making with numerous construction delays, and I have been watching the slow progress from across the street, because that’s where I live. In the meantime, I have been disposing and packing, and every closet and shelf in my house is filled with boxes.

Of course, there are many ways to pack. When stowing stuff in suitcases for an airplane ride there are weight and size limits, as well as rules that tell you, what you can and cannot pack.
Also, I always try to pack my purse as light as possible, but I never really succeed.

Years ago, when my husband, Warren and I lived in San Diego, friends invited us to go sailing with them on their boat. Warren asked me to pack a lemon in my handbag in case he got seasick. It was a smooth sailing day and no one got sick, but when we docked it was definitely time for a drink. Warren ordered a scotch on the rocks with a twist of lemon. The chagrined waiter said, “I’m sorry, Sir, but we are out of lemons.  “Not to worry,” I replied, as I pulled one out of my purse. The amazed waiter said, “Wow!” what else do you have in there?

When we lived in a tiny apartment in Chicago, we invited the whole family to join us for Thanksgiving dinner. Because the weather had turned very bad and the roads were icy, My in-laws took the commuter train.They arrived with two suitcases filled with mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes, stuffing, biscuits and apple pie. The smell must have driven everyone on the train mad with desire.

Packing food obviously ran on that side of the family, because when Warren was invited to give a lecture in Boston he arrived home with a lobster packed in ice, and when he came home from San Francisco, he pulled a loaf of  sour dough bread out of his briefcase.  Not very romantic, but delicious. I shouldn’t have been surprised with my gifts because this was the man who, when he was a teenager, gave his petite, fashionable, mother a basketball for her
birthday. Of course if she couldn’t use it—-.

It’s amazing how much stuff one can accumulate over the years, and how much of it I probably won’t miss. The other day, I found the “What is this?” wedding gift that we never  did figure out what it was meant to do. I hope that Big Brothers and Big Sisters will find a use for it.
Every two weeks they have been picking up donated items from my home. Now, when I call them, I get a cheerful, “Oh, you’re a regular.”

Tomorrow, I will begin to move into my new digs. It's a process and I won't have my furniture in until Nov. 12th.  In the meantime, I’ll pack a few more boxes and a lot more memories to help me on my way.

Cheers,
Esther Blumenfeld