So, Keith was the good brother and flew out to Boston a few days before our move to help us drive back to Ohio. I admire family sacrifice like that – Bravo Keith!
Our last days in Boston were busy, naturally, and overwhelming to me. As excited I was for the new house, Nick’s new job, and my upcoming trip, the sadness began it’s descent into my urban loving heart. A highrise apartment across the street from Boston Common is not exactly something that is easy to say goodbye to…the city is always exciting and the summertime is the most Awesome (yes, with a capital ‘A’) time of year there. The festivals, beach, concerts, and outdoor events are countless each week.
The last few days we were there, it was like the city was showing off. Boston was spilling with political and awareness marches, block parties, and warm weather. While I enjoyed one last night at my favorite bar, Flash’s, with friends, I spent the majority of the time finishing up work and packing things that I no longer want but can’t bring myself to give away or throw out.
It’s always a marvel when a person moves to see how much stuff you think is necessary to exist; how much you surround yourself with. Every time I move (which is every year), I try and simplify my life and keep only the clothes I regulary use, pack only what I will reasonably want to physically carry, and throw out anything I haven’t used in a year.
The only thing in that pile was a turquoise turtleneck and a striped bedsheet.
I need less strict criteria.
“If I haven’t thought about using this for two years, it’s going to the Donate pile.”
By the end of packing, there was only a handful of clothes and one pair of socks. Pathetic.
Sunday morning, Boston cried big fat rain drops because it knew Nick and I were leaving and wanted to make it difficult. We persevered with Nick’s organization and planned strategies. Anytime we have big projects like moving that require much activity and energy, I swear there’s a wild look in Nick’s eyes where he becomes so focused and determined I feel like I should just flatten myself against a wall and stay out of his way. It’s admirable, but a bit scary. He picks up boxes and furniture items that are too heavy for one person to carry and takes fast strides toward the door like we only have 10 more minutes before we have to leave. Not surprisingly, I am much more relaxed with the schedule and sip my purple Gatorade.
I comment to him, “You have that wild look in your eyes.”
“I just want to get things done,” he smiles while he looks around the room like he wants to wrestle everything.
“You always get like this when we move.”
“The focus is a Borchers specialty,” he explains as if I’ve never met his family.