At 6 am we starting moving all of our possessions (those that we no longer wished to possess) out on to our lawn as quickly as possible. The yard sale was scheduled for 9 am, but at 8:00 sharp they started coming. Driving slowly by the lawn in large trucks, which was by this time covered so thickly with items that it was difficult to see the grass, craning their heads out the window before finally stopping the vehicle and getting out to pick through our things like raccoons through a dumpster. Peter hauled junk out from our house, basement, garage, all day, and I fended off customers all day. It was positively depressing how much stuff we had, how much people took, and how much we had left at the end of the day.
Jasper was with the Hipples running his first triathalon, but poor Josie was stuck with us, watching endless hours of TV, and then roaming through the yard in 98 degree heat without underwear trying to reclaim as many of her toys as possible and then wailing every time some kid walked off with another one of her things. I forgot to feed her lunch or put her down for a nap because I was dealing with customers all day.
"How much for this thing?"
"How much do you want to pay?"
"I don't know... A dollar?"
"It's yours."
Over and over again I sold each item for whatever people wanted to pay. In the end, we may just enough to pay for the dump runs to throw away everything that was left over.
At two o'clock friends started to show up to help with the move. Everything in the yard sale was free at this point, so people started to flood in and just start hauling things off. Then we packed everything in to five truck loads for the dump and Salvation Army. As more people arrived they helped carry the large furniture in to the POD. Beds, bureaus, the piano, King Friday (our over sized orange corduroy bean bag). Other friends scoured the rooms, throwing left over items into bags and boxes for the POD. Packing, cleaning, carrying, disassembling, labeling... It was an orgy of disorder. The kids were going wild on the Slip N' Slide. We ran out of beverages. We realized we had packed all of the spoons and knives before dinner was served. Friends went out for drinks and utensils and more food. Again, I forgot to feed my kids, but I am pretty sure someone else took care of it. We had about 40 people there as our Concord lives quickly unraveled. Peter managed the POD while I wandered through rooms and the yard, incapable of forming a complete thought. We were exhausted. But we had packed all the bedding.
At 8 pm, like magic, everyone dispersed. Hugs, tears, kisses, well wishes, thanks, good byes. The Hipples and Ona and Garth slept over, staying up with us late around the camp fire, nursing our nostalgia with left over beers. The era was over.
When we came to Concord, we always thought we would leave. The original plan was to be here "three to five years" and then move to a place with a bit more culture, family, something. So it's no surprise that six years later we are moving out/on. But we had no idea how hard moving would be. There is not just the inertia of all the STUFF a family accumulates over time. It's the relationships that make moving such a challenge. You can bring the couch and the favorite chair, but you can't bring the person who visited you right after your first child was born and the friend who listens to you bitch about whatever every Thursday night at the bar. There are certainly plenty of people (and more than enough stuff) in DC, but it is still painful to leave what and who you know. The truth is, unless we had been forced to, we would have never left.
Some day, they tell me, I will be thankful for being forced to leave Concord. I'm not quite there yet.
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