On Moving Out and On, Part 1

For those who aren’t in my inner circle, which most of the internet isn’t (sorry, Folks), I sold my home of 58 of my 60 years on the planet back in January.  It was too big for one person, with or without cats unless you own a horde (I don’t), and had become too hard to upkeep both physically and financially.  I was actually a month away from losing it to the county for unpaid taxes when I sold it.  Yeah, not a great couple of years income-wise prior to that moment.

I was given a very generous six months to find someplace else to live as well as decide on what I was keeping, what I was donating and what I was trashing.  However, I hit the huge stumbling block of finding someplace to live.  Because I remained in the family home, I was never exposed to the process before.  Got a five month course in searching, applying and being rejected for apartments and cottages in my price range that had at least ten other people applying for them at the same time.  Wow – it’s a lot like job hunting, isn’t it? 

As with the sale of the house, I was down to the wire in finding somewhere to live that would take me and my small pride of felines who were used to an indoor/outdoor existence.  But, with the help of the new owner of what was my home, I found a place – two doors down from where I was living.  I wasn’t aware that my neighbor’s upstairs apartment was available, so I didn’t ask.  Reasonable rent for a reasonably sized one-bedroom apartment.  Done.  Now for the hard parts. 

I’m going to skip the whole transitioning the cats to the new place.  Those who have cats as pets know it’s less than fun to move them from one place to another.  I was fortunate in that I didn’t have to drive them there howling, although one I walked one down in a carrier howling all the way because I figured it was the only way she’d get the message.  The rest just followed “mommy” – and the food.

The real first hard part was deciding what I was going to take, knowing that anything left after the physical possession date was considered abandoned and the new owner of the house could do as they wished with it.  Some things I took because they were necessary for existence and comfort.  Some of what I took was earmarked to go elsewhere.  But, a lot of it fell into the no-man’s-land of “I don’t know.”  Did I need it or was I just holding onto it out of emotional attachment?  It didn’t matter.  I took as much as I could and would deal with the consequence of all those decisions later. 

Despite multiple car trips and stuff flowing into the apartment like water, there was still a lot left behind at the house and most of it ended up in the dumpster.  There were things thrown in that I never would have trashed.  But perhaps, that was part of the problem.  The new owner could let go of these things, seeing their lack of value without a lot of time and effort put into them, time and effort that could be better focused elsewhere.

Which brings me to the second hard part, which I will delve into in Part 2.