Not For the Weak of Heart

Sorting through one's belongings for an extended time away is difficult. It would be so much easier if we were actually moving to NH. Because then we'd just pack everything up, and tell ourselves, "We'll go through these files on the other end. We'll have much more time, then!" (Which wouldn't be true, so that 3-in. stack of user manuals for appliances/electronics we no longer own? We'd still have it in our files six months down the line.)

So, okay, there is some good about this process. But what a pain in the ass. Thursday is looming, and I still have tons to do. And it doesn't help that, because of the miniscularity of our temporary summer digs, as well as of the house we'll be living in in town, I've got to make some harsh decisions. Like: We can't bring both the food processor and the blender. Which should it be? The food processor is much more versatile, except for pesto. (And how many times do we make pesto over the course of a year? Maybe 7? -- But still: pesto!)

We've also decided that it would be silly to bring our fondue pot. But what about our raclette grill? Sure, we only have one raclette a winter (that's enough of a cheese overload in itself), but quality of life, man! That's important, too. Isn't it?

No wedding china (makes sense), but no French onion soup crocks (which I often use for individual pot pies in the winter), either. No ice cream sundae coupes. No pasta maker. No waffle iron.

Very few books. (That's OK, we'll just buy more, and that's a plus.) No Christmas decorations (the Consort said something about "making a paper tree" -- I have no idea what he meant, and I really don't care to know, either).

We are, however, bringing the contents of the liquor cabinet. That's us, you know, *tap tap tap* using our noggin for the important stuff.



(And for the love of sanity, don't anybody mention the incredibly thick layer of dust there behind the bookshelf. I didn't even notice it until I was cropping the picture for this post. [And to be honest, that bookshelf is normally packed with books, so no one can see behind the books at all, under normal circumstances.].)