Moving is a collection of mixed blessings. My mother was asked, when I was a little girl, to keep some important papers in a safe place for a friend, which she carefully did. I well remember the day the house was being torn apart in a frantic search, because my mother could not remember where she had put these papers for safekeeping (they were eventually discovered in an unlikely place). Since then, it has been a family joke to talk about having put something in a “safe place” if its location has vanished from living memory without a trace.

The process of tearing apart all of my possessions and packing them in preparation for moving next week has yielded the location of several items that have been safely stored but simply forgotten, such as the gold necklace on a delicate chain that I stopped wearing many years ago. So it’s a time to refresh my acquaintance with some items, as well as a chance to throw things away that no longer hold any value. It’s also a time of surprises. Where did I put that…? Oh, is that where that was? This morning I went looking for my dumbbells to find they were not in view. Hmmm…I guess I’ll have to lift boxes for the next short while, not weights!

I have diligently followed my B blood type characteristic of being a nomad. I have always believed I had a gypsy soul, but no way to prove such an idea. Instead, I lived in five homes in three different cities in three different provinces of Canada by the time I married my first husband at the age of 20. Children dictate a certain level of stability, but as my little brood grew, I began to move once again. One of the hardest questions I ever have to answer is “Where are you from?” I don’t really know the answer. Am I from New Brunswick, where I lived until I was three years old? Am I from Toronto, where I’ve spent more years of my life than others? What about all the other places? Even coming back to Toronto almost 17 years ago sounds fairly stable until I start to count the number of homes I have lived in during those years. I’ve been in my present building (in two different apartments) for seven years. That’s a much better record than the first few years, when I moved so many times I have actually lost count. I think it was more than 10 times. It seems that every time I move, I have acquired more possessions. I look back on that first move in Toronto with amazement that I had so little to take along with me. I had no furniture, only a few boxes of books, some clothing, a radio, a musical instrument. It didn’t even fill my friend’s van! This move will require a 14 foot moving truck and three strong young men to heave furniture and boxes in and out of old and new homes in a little over a week.

The purchase transaction is scheduled to close tomorrow. I have to paint the bedroom before the move, so it’s good there is time to do that next week before the move. The rent is actually paid on this apartment until the end of July, so if anything goes wrong, there is still time to reconfigure the structure set in place.

The stress of last-minute details is wearing away at me a little. I think that’s why I was looking for the dumbbells, to work off some of the tension. I’ll simply have to do a few yoga stretches in their place. It will be sufficient, I’m sure. And I am reminding myself to be sure to take all of my vitamin supplements for these days up to the move, to make sure I am in the best possible physical condition and able to deal with whatever “throws” may come my way as I head towards a different lifestyle in a new location. It will be healthier where I am going to live. This apartment is located a block away from an operating rubber factory. From time to time, fumes come my way, reminding me of its presence, and a black film descends on everything in the apartment – the floors, windows, venetian blinds. I suspect this will not be a factor in my new home. And I think the large leafy trees in front of my new apartment will block much of the sound of traffic whizzing past on the busy street as well as reduce the amount of dust that presently comes in my windows because I am located much closer to the road. The new home is actually a health tool in every possible way, once I get over the mechanics of the last of the packing and the painting and the actual move. I will be breathing much more easily in a number of ways.