I am sitting on the floor of what used to be our master bedroom looking at the random assortment of odds and ends that always get left over when you’re in the midst of packing.
I am very tired.
Our goal is to head west this afternoon. It was sidetracked by the unfortunate discovery that the 24 foot trailer is not quite big enough to hold our belongings. I can guarantee there will be a massive garage sale as soon as we get settled.
Number one, we’re moving into a place the size of a mouse hole, number two there is no good reason for us to have accumulated so much stinkin’ junk!
The sober assessment of our moving situation led us to a random transaction in a field encrusted with daisies and trailer this morning. We handed over about half of our available cash to an elderly man with misaligned teeth, a potty mouth and a perverted sense of humor and walked away with another cargo trailer that will hopefully help us complete our move.
It’s so funny to me – the stuff I REALLY care about, it can be buckled into three car seats and a seat belt and taken with me. But the extra stuff… I guess the stuff that makes life more comfortable or pretty, that’s the stuff that’s being carted around as extra baggage requiring two moving trucks of adventure.
Since I always turn to writing when I’m at the end of my rope, I’ve taken five minutes to vomit words onto an electronic page and hit “send” while the girls run hysterically around the house trying to unpack the boxes as quickly as I finish packing them!. One final thought, though…
In the move I came across one of my very favorite posters ever. It’s a grainy black and white photo of a runner, knee bandaged and competition number on his chest. The caption to the photo reads:
“GREATEST LAST PLACE FINISH EVER. Mexico City, 1968 – Out of the cold darkness he came. John Stephen Akhwari, of Tanzania, entered at the far end of the stadium, pain hobbling his every step, his leg bloody and bandaged. The winner of the Olympic marathon had been declared over an hour earlier. Only a few spectators remained. But the lone runner pressed on. As he crossed the finish line, the small crowd roared out its appreciation. Afterward, a reporter asked the runner why he had not retired from the race, since he had no chance of winning. He seemed confused by the question. Finally, he answered: “My country did not send me to Mexico City to start the race. They sent me to finish.”
May all of your own races be run and finished well…
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