Opening the last few packing boxes, and finding homes for the items inside them, is like trying to finish up a Rubik’s Cube.
I have moved dishes from one cupboard to another and back, realizing the most frequently used items need to be in the most accessible places. And those out-of-the-way, pain-in-the-butt cupboards are perfect for storing items that are used maybe once a year. Canning pots. My zucchini chipper.
Things are coming together. It’s hard to tell from day to day, but looking back from month to month we’ve made huge progress. When all of the boxes were opened and sorted, things disappeared daily. My Garmin. The steel box with all of our important papers. Luckily, both have resurfaced. I was about to call in a psychic to find the steel box.
The one thing that I haven’t been able to find is my Ford Housewives book. That fact is especially vexing, because there’s a chapter in the book on frugal holiday decorating. There’s one more box in the mud room to open. If the book isn’t in that box, it ended up in the attic. Then God help us all.
Such is life on the second floor of a 150-year-old farmhouse with a décor that includes polished wood and barnwood, 1970s carpet from a Holiday Inn, dresser scarves that my grandma embroidered, a kitschy tablecloth from a 1960s vacation to Canada, and antiques peppered throughout.
There’s a place for everything. And eventually, everything will find its place. But just to be safe, Dodge Center–area psychics, please don’t go on vacation just yet.
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