Pieces of life

My contributions to this site will be severely curtailed over the next several days. Vicki and I will be leaving for Salt Lake City this weekend, so we are in the last throes of putting the pieces of our lives into boxes.

Moving does things to me - most of them bad. There must be something about cardboard that brings out my cranky, curmudgeon side. I am usually the one of the family who is ready to pitch anything. Vicki never asks my opinion whether to keep something or not; she already knows my answer. In fact, I will frequently give my opinion freely whether I am asked or not. It is just that my opinion is rarely heeded.

Lest I sound too much like the Wicked Witch of Moving, let me defend myself a bit. I am the one who loaded a box of rocks to move from Tennessee to Kansas. They were not my rocks; they belonged to Vicki's parents. The rocks were not labeled; they bore no distinguishing marks; to the best of my knowledge, they were never taken out and looked at. They were just there. These were rocks that had been picked up at various vacation locations for years. Picked up; thrown in a box; never thought of again, until it was time to move.

Now, I can understand keeping one special rock that was picked up on your first date or your honeymoon. That rock would be special. That one would be worth keeping. Having a box full of rocks that all looked alike was not worth it, in my humble opinion, but I lost that argument, among many others.

Yet, there are things that I treasure and am glad to move. I still have the little pencil sharpener that Adam bought for me with his allowance at his elementary school's Christmas store. I still have the tile ash tray that Joshua made me in Cub Scouts. These items are symbols of the relationship that I have with my sons. Those pieces of my life I am glad to take.