In case you don’t know it yet (which is almost impossible, since I’ve been announcing the news from every rooftop) we’ve finally found our house. Roughly in the area where we wanted it, and definitely not the house we started out looking for. It is amazing how two years of house-hunting can alter your preconceived ideas of what it is that you are actually going to get.

Anyway – found the house, bond approved (this process deserves an entire blog on its own! Have you any idea how difficult it is to get a bond if you work for yourself? Then again, all’s well that ends well), house plans revised and awaiting municipal approval (again – let’s not go there) and Telkom line move initiated. All that still needs to happen, is for us to pack up and make our move.

The hubs and I have vastly different opinions on how to move a house. His idea is to leisurely empty a room, pack it up, and then relocate the entire room contents to the new house, unpack it, and start the process again. While I am sure his idea has merits, it clashes completely with my ideal move strategy: which is to pack up all my books, move my empty bookshelves across, unpack my books and then fit the rest of the house contents around the bookshelves. Needless to say, after strongly arguing my point, my move strategy won hands-down.

As the previous house owner still occupies the house for at least another 2 1/2 weeks, we are nimbly picking our way at our house around filled crates and boxes of books. Our dogs are nervous wrecks, as at least 70% of their inside roaming space is now occupied by heavy objects. Said heavy objects can’t temporarily be moved outside, since any torrential downpour will ruin twenty years of book collection.

I have forgotten how traumatic it is to move to a new house. Suddenly beloved curtains and blinds no longer fit, and new ones have to be ordered. Long forgotten belongings are unearthed from the depths of cupboards, and traumatic decisions have to be made. Shall we keep this or toss it? I am a terrible hoarder, and find it impossible to part with anything. What if this random object that seemingly has no purpose turns out to be a life-saving device in the nearby future?

Packing up is definitely a meander down memory lane. Especially if you find it hard to part with sentimental stuff. And there the hubs is slightly worse than I am. He still hangs on to two eyeless, moth-eaten teddy bears from when he was a toddler, while I only hang on to stuff that is actually still unbroken and in mint (or almost) condition. Ok, apart from the single shoe that I insist on keeping because I still want to find someone to make me a new pair. Or my awful green jacket I wore to my first Grahamstown Festival. Or my matric shirt with everyone’s farewell messages on it. Or… you get the picture.

Moving house is seen as one of the most traumatic, stressful experiences that a human being has to endure. I can see why – oh so very much. But, as they say – this too shall pass…