My childhood could be described as
a fairy tale. No, seriously, one cold,
snowy Ohio morning when I was in first grade I got on the school bus in front
of my old abode, then my parents waved their magic wand and uttered the magic
words, “Abracadabra, alli kazam and bippity bopity boo.” That afternoon I rode
a different school bus home to my new digs on the other side of town. All
my worldly possessions were set up in my new bedroom: my doll resting on my
quilt, my Mary Janes lined up in my closet, and my books stacked by my bed. Just like my old home, only the wall color was
different (yellow instead of pink.) I have no recollection of boxes, although I
seriously doubt my parents could pack, move and unpack that fast! But they seemed to so in my mind, moving was
no big deal.
Ah, the innocence of youth.
Fifteen years after that single,
magical moving experience, I married a man in uniform, which unbeknownst to me
at the time meant I had a lot of moves in my future. Nineteen to be exact,
hence I speak from experience when I talk “moving”.
And I’ve met a LOT of people over
the past 30 years that also have “moving stories” to contribute! There’s always something new here so check
back often.
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