The Joy of Moving

Ah, truly - there is joy in moving. While it may not be fun or enjoyable to watch coffee tables fall off moving trucks, finding broken antique marble heirlooms in your driveway or a suit jacket mixed in with pots and pans --- moving really does bring me some private joy in a way that nothing else can.

It's not the meeting of new people. Or the excitement of finding new haunts and hangouts. Or even the thought of getting something new whether it be a lamp, a pillow or even curtains. It's the simple joy of remembering where things have come from.

The big ticket items like the furniture and carpets - eh - who cares. They were purchased with care - but to me they are just things. Maybe my kids will have fond memories of the green sectional sofa that has been delegated to the basement because I hate it and this basement is the only place it has ever fit. I'm talking about the little things that don't mean anything to anyone except me.

Unpacking the kitchen can be a chore - but it is always the first thing I tackle. As I unwrap each dish, crock or serving utensil - I can remember where it came from. I have a blue checked plate that reminds me of a birthday in Okinawa from my friend Meg. It was made in her hometown in Massachusetts - and the thought of her carrying it back from a vacation to give to me for my 30th birthday just makes me smile. I have a quiche plate that is the only thing I have ever won at Bunko. I don't make quiche all that often, but I refuse to get rid of the plate that made me a winner. I have a cake cutter from a friend in NC. Nothing special about it - I just like it and she knew I needed one.

I have a lot of stuff from my mother's kitchen. Two of my favorite items are cook books from when I was a little girl. The Cooky Book is my favorite book - I remember poring through it with my sister wondering why my mom never made any of the cool cookies. (Could it be because she had 4 kids and no time? Maybe!) There is a gingerbread house that I swore I would make one day. I haven't done it yet, but as long as the book is here - there is hope. The other book is a Betty Crocker collection my mother received as a shower gift. I have a picture of me sitting on the counter at the age of two licking batters with the cook book next to the bowl. There is something oddly comforting about that photo, the book and the beaters.

My favorite kitchen serving ware also came from my mother. She gave me a sterling silver lazy Susan tray with individual crystal serving dishes for vegetables and dip. I had never seen it until I got married. She had received it as a wedding gift from a relative and always thought it was too nice to use. The gift card was still attached. That makes me sad. How can something be too nice to use? I use it at every party even though the silver is a little tarnished. It makes me think of my parents in the early part of their marriage.

The other piece or pieces my mother gave me were used by her. I had some girls over for a Mary Kay party when I was 18. I didn't even know what Mary Kay was let alone why I would be have some friends over. My father had recently died and it felt kind of weird to be doing something so trivial as to trying out make up. But Mom said to have them over. Mary Kay requires a food treat - so who the heck knows what I planned to serve Mary, Bobbi and Jan - (yes, really!) - but I do remember being shocked when Mom pulled out these adorable triangle plates with matching cups! Who cares what your eating when your eating off something as cute as this bridge set! I never knew my mom had anything as darling as these dishes! Again - she thought they were too nice to use. There is something ironic about pulling out the good dishes after someone dies.

Anyway, I own them now - and while I don't use them every day - if someone is over for lunch - they are my dish of choice!

So, while everyone else organizes bedrooms and alphabetizes the garage - I have my own private memory party in my kitchen and dining room. And it lasts until someone informs me that we have no food.