Moving at 96 has an element of anxiety but also of humor, if you look at it right.
It’s a warehouse now! Apartment no more, filled with bags and boxes and cartons galore. Go look in the drawer, But the item’s not in it. In the box marked Save, Discard, Storage Unit? Never mind, it’s gone. and whatever its fate, I may see it again or perhaps it’s too late. I’ll sleep in my chair. The bed is smothered with clothes I must sort, some linens and others. I trip over things that were left on the floor and find I can’t open the coat closet door. A few days from now the move will get done and I’ll get settled in. I can imagine the fun!
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