Sentimental

Moving sucks. It’s hard on your body, mind and wallet. It’s stressful — so much so that people consistently report it in the top ten most stressful events of their life. There are a million moving parts, a never-ending to-do list. Cross state lines and that list gets even longer. The List haunts you the entire time you pack, inexplicably growing with every item you check off. Packing supplies. Call movers to get quotes. Logistics: how are we getting the cars there? Shipping? Driving? The dog should drive. The baby should fly. I moved almost every year and a half growing up, so the sound of packing tape gives me PTSD. When that sound made my eleven-month-old daughter cry, I became a believer in generational trauma.

One of the things I love most about living in Pennsylvania is experiencing all four seasons. They are pronounced, and regardless of how long you’ve lived there, the changes in weather are always remarkable. People comment on the weather constantly, as if the four things it might be doing outside — being warm, cold, wet or dry — are novel any old day. Whether these remarks are upbeat or grumbly seems to depend on one’s age and if snow is more likely to result in a day off school or a bout of rheumatism. For me, though, a change in the seasons — any season — is a sentimental event. It’s as if nature is poignantly reminding me that time is passing. A late February warm spell this year inspired me to do some spring cleaning.