This past weekend, Beauty moved to her new digs. It seems not so long ago there was a time when my friends seemed to move apartments all the time, and I looked forward to it. I liked moving other people. I didn’t have to pack or unpack any boxes. No cleaning was involved. I just showed up, dragged heavy stuff in and out of a truck for a few hours, then ate pizza and drank beer for the rest of the day. This move did involve pizza and beer… and a big truck. But after that, it wasn’t quite like I remember.

The boxes are heavier now. And where I used to seek out the heavy awkward stuff to move as sort of a personal challenge, this time I just sort of pretended it was invisible and hoped her two 20-something nephews would grab it – a strategy which was quite effective I might add.

Today the realities are beginning to hit home. My legs and shoulders are sore. I’m exhausted. I’m grateful to be going back to work. It was a satisfying weekend in a way. We got a lot done, and the new place looks great. But it may take awhile for me to make the emotional adjustment that my credit card is more powerful than my muscles now, and perhaps in the future I should just hire movers… or find more 20-something bucks like I used to be that are grateful to move heavy things for pizza and beer.