“Oh my gosh. I don’t want to open that box.”
Moving furniture and books and clothing is easy. It’s moving memories that is hard.
I am going through the last of my boxes. I used to say I was not a packrat. I thought I was more like my mother than my dad. My dad might tuck a piece of wood away, thinking it would find a use someday. My mother would be of the opinion that it’s easier to buy a board when (and if) it was needed. Generally, it wasn’t.
