My old house was 5.5 miles from work. The new house is 4.7 miles from work. It used to take me about seven minutes to get to the office in the mornings – now it takes me anywhere from 25 minutes on a low traffic morning, to nearly an hour on a thick fog, multi-car accident morning like we had today. That’s right, nearly an hour to go 4.7 miles. The way I figure it, I could have walked to work quicker today than I drove. This is the rare down side to the new house. Another down side would be the fact that we can’t afford it.
We moved out of our other house at the end of July. It would be several weeks before the new house was available to us, so we had to place all of our things into storage and live with Miss J’s parents. As we have completed remodeling projects, we have been moving our things into the new house very gradually. All of the furniture and major items are in place, but there are still quite a few boxes lurking in the storage unit. At the least, these are things that we need less than once every four months. Mostly, they are things that we should have thrown away years ago. But there are some exceptions. Things that we have needed over the last few months, but knew they were buried deep within the bowels of a rented garage.
For example: my shoes. I only kept out two pairs of shoes for this ordeal, one pair for wearing to work, and one pair for working around the house in. They are now tattered disgusting rags. I need my other shoes.
You need to understand something about the way I operate to fully get this. I have developed a habit when it comes to shoes. A ritual, if you will. That is, I find a pair of shoes that I like, and I wear them every single day until they give up the ghost. I have two pairs of shoes that I have never worn. They were given to me by my mother and my wife at various times. They are nice shoes and I like them. They are just waiting for their moment to come up in the rotation.
That moment is now, and they are hidden in the storage unit somewhere.
Yesterday afternoon I brought home two truckloads of mysterious boxes. Back in July, we only had two or three days to pack and move, so they were labeled and packed somewhat haphazardly by a collection of the friends who love us most. Going through them was a jolt of disgust (why do we have all of this crap), disappointment (where are those things I have been missing), excitement (wow, I forgot all about that book), and amazement (why would you pack a radio in one box and its power cord in another). Through it all, no shoes.
This morning while getting ready for work, I was just about to put on my rotten loafers when I thought, “I never did see the bottom of that box over there.”
Sure enough, there they were. Finally I can go to work without being embarrassed about the sad state of my feet.