I’d like to say that my move my came off without a hitch but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Rogers completely screwed up my move order, cut off my service two days early and disconnected my email entirely leaving me with a lot of mystified contacts for five days. On the bright side, very literally, I moved on Thursday, a day ahead of torrential rains that took a heavy toll on Toronto. All I could think of as I unpacked the next day was my poor movers having to deal with the deluge. Better them than me.
I had challenges of my own to confront, namely squeezing 10 pounds of flour into the five pound bag I now call home. Fortunately, I grew up in the shadow of a woman who believes there’s always room for a little more stuff; my mother’s kitchen drawers are like Russian nesting dolls with sieves inside pots inside pans inside . . . you get the idea.
So I was up for the challenge of stowing my stuff. My new walk-in closet has a partial shelf that doesn’t quite stretch from wall to wall so I floated my dolly in the space, one wheel resting on a wooden support with the lifting surface braced against a tote, thus creating another shelf for yet another tote. I likely won’t be able to use my brass pendant in this apartment so I installed a hook and hung it in the closet instead of giving it valuable shelf space. There isn’t room for another thing up there, I made sure of that.
The boxes at left will go out on recycling day and are a testament to all I’ve accomplished this weekend. I’m dying to show you how far I’ve come with the space but there are a couple of missing pieces and I don’t want to steal my own thunder.
The best news of all is that I’ve had three peaceful nights with no earplugs and no anxiety. The place isn’t perfect but what place is? I can make do with less room and less storage as long as I can hear myself think. And now I can, at long last.