Out of here

This will be my last post from the old house.

It's 9:30 a.m. on Wednesday, June 19.

I'll miss it ... but not too much.

Five people are here, loading all of my earthly possessions onto a truck for the move to the new apartment.

They're actually waiting for me to finish up at the computer desk, and then that too will go out the door.

That's why this post is so short.

It's working as planned

And so it begins in earnest.

As I write this on Tuesday morning at 11:39, two very efficient women from Door to Door Solutions are carefully and scrupulously packing everything in preparation for tomorrow's move.

They're good. Really good.

They also have all the supplies they need to do it right. In the past week, I've already moved about six boxes of stuff to the apartment on my own. I did not have the right supplies. I was not as organized as these two women are. My bad.

It's disconcerting. There are boxes everywhere. I keep having to look for a pencil or pen to jot things down. The fridge has a bottle of soda, half of a sandwich, and a container of yogurt in it. That's all. I'll be on my own for dinner tonight. It'll probably be a double cheeseburger from McDonald's.

They're not packing the coffee maker. I'll definitely need that tomorrow morning.

Hiring a company that packs, moves, and unpacks my belongings has made this so much easier than it might have been. Hiring a designer, who came up with an imaginative floor plan and will be on site tomorrow to supervise placement, was also a smart idea. A friend -- a former curator at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts and a colleague for three decades -- badgered me into using a designer. Thanks, Maggie!

Tonight I'll have my TV and my computer, a bed, a lamp, and a chair to sit in while I read, and my morning supplies: toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream, mouthwash, shampoo and soap.

Everything else will be packed, wrapped, secured, boxed or padded, and waiting for the movers at 9 a.m.

Sure, I'm stressed. I expected to be.

But the move is going exactly as planned.

And that's the good news on Tuesday, June 18, 2013.

The countertop to-do list

There might be a better way to do it.

In fact, I'm sure there must be a better way. Perhaps I should set up a spreadsheet, with check boxes, on my computer.

But I've chosen to use sticky notes on the kitchen counter.

Decades ago, my friend Walter "officially" inducted me into the Virgo Tidy Corps. Virgos like us want our lives to be neat, orderly and organized. We both fit the description.

I'm getting even more organized now because the big move is just a week away. I'll be going from homeowner to apartment dweller.

And there are so many things I have to remember to do in the next week. I've gotten a lot done already, but it seems like every few hours I think of one more thing I have to do.

So I started jotting my to-do list on sticky notes and putting them in a spot that I look at a lot -- next to the Mr. Coffee machine on the countertop in the kitchen.

(I'm not sure I could get through this without coffee. Or my sticky notes.)

They change daily, sometimes twice or three times a day. I remember something I have to do, I write it down, and when it's done, the sticky note goes into the trash.

Sure, it looks amateurish.

But it works for me.

And it's very satisfying to complete a task and toss the note away.

We Virgos are like that.

But always lurking in the back of my mind is the fact that my membership in the Virgo Tidy Corps is at risk.

I'm certain that Walter would be using Excel.

Hat trick

Home is where you hang your hat.

So the first of my worldly stuff that I took into the new apartment today was one of my hats. It's now hanging in the big closet in what will be my bedroom.

The process of moving continues, and the pace is picking up.

Tomorrow, somebody with far more taste than I'll ever have is taking a look at the new space and will offer suggestions on furniture placement.

This is a good thing, because I'm not as visually literate as you might think I'd be. If you know that I worked at an art museum for three decades, you'd think I might have at least metabolized something about the visual world. Not true. I'm in my comfort zone with words more so than with images -- ergo Cogito.

This is not to say I am devoid of ideas for this new place where I will be hanging more hats in days to come. But a small voice keeps whispering in my ear: Your design sense is pedestrian. So, I'm looking forward to expert suggestions.

I spent about a half hour in the apartment today, checking on little things and getting comfortable with the layout. I determined that both front door keys worked, the mailbox key works, and -- yes -- there really is as much closet space as I remembered, probably more than I have in my two-story house.

And one more thing I checked: The windowsills are wide enough for Cassie to sit on.

She's more visual than I am. She'll relish the view from the 9th floor.

The two big questions

Now that word of my decision to sell my house is leaking out, there are two questions that I am almost inevitably asked.

"Are you going to have a house-warming party in your new apartment?"

"What does Cassie think about the impending move?"

I'm not planning to throw a big housewarming party. I don't do big parties. I'm neither fond of going to big parties nor of hosting big gatherings.

I plan to have friends over -- in small groups -- to see my new place. It'll take a while to get everything organized, but they will be invited.

One thing I have to do is find a new dining-room table. The one I have now is too big and ungainly for the new space. It's been in the family for close to six decades, and it's a beautiful piece of furniture. I hope I can pass it on to a relative or a good friend. It has served the Dales well for two generations, but it's time for it, too, to find a new home of its own.

And to the extent that a house-warming party is one to which those invited bring gifts to "warm up" the new space, no, thank you. I'm downsizing, not upsizing. I have more stuff than I want or need already.

(Anybody need a staple gun? Mine has been sitting in a cigar box in the basement for at least 20 years. I haven't used it since my black lab ran away from home in 1996 and I tacked up notices on the trees in the neighborhood. I found my dog and haven't used the staple gun since. Or how about a perfectly serviceable suitcase? I have four, and three of them are in the giveaway pile in the guest bedroom. Each brings back warm memories of trips to Europe. Also up for grabs is a Zippo lighter that belonged to my late sister. It has a Washington Redskins logo on it. What with the fuss about the Redskins name, that might soon be a collector's item. Maybe I should hang on to it.)

As for questions #2, I haven't told Cassie about the move yet, although I suspect she thinks that something is afoot. (Do cats think? Cassie doesn't appear to ponder much beyond her next meal and the availability of a warm lap. Oh, and a good place to take a nap.)

She's taken some interest in the giveaway pile, especially since it's encroaching on her favorite space to snooze.

She'll like the apartment. It's on the ninth floor, and that will give her new windowsills to sit on and the opportunity to view the world from a perspective she's never experienced before.

Cassie will be just fine. Her food dish, water dish, litter box and cat toys -- especially the red felt mouse she positively venerates -- will be there when she arrives. She'll no doubt spend a week or so exploring every fresh nook and cranny. I'll tell her to look at the move as an exciting adventure. She might not pay attention, but she is, truth be told, along for the ride whether she approves or not.

She won't worry long, if at all. She's easily distracted, wherever she might be and whatever her mood. All I have to do is toss a crumpled-up sticky note.

Or her red felt mouse.

She'll throw herself into play mode and forget all her cares.

Would that life could be so simple for the rest of us.

Sorting ... sort of

This picture was taken by my mother on September 11, 1943, my first birthday.

Sorting. Deciding. Eliminating.

And, best of all, discovering.

As I get ready for the big downsize from a house to an apartment, the biggest chore is choosing what to take with me, what to give away (or sell), and what to toss in the trash.

But there are also discoveries.

I found something Sunday that I had never seen before: A letter to me from my father. It was tucked away in a box of papers and photographs I had found in a closet when I was cleaning out my mother's house, getting it ready for sale in 2006, the year before she died.

The letter from my father was dated July 18, 1943. It was addressed to Master Donnie Dale.

I was less than a year old.

He probably wrote it either on board a ship headed for the South Pacific or in New Zealand where the Seabees staged for their part in the bloody but ultimately successful effort to take the strategically placed Solomon Islands away from the Japanese.

The short letter, written in ink and in my father's clear cursive style, was in response to a letter my mother had sent him that purportedly was from me. Of course she had written it; I was too young to talk much, let alone write a letter.

It's difficult to describe how I felt when I found the long-forgotten letter. I was touched by how sweet it was. I imagined the turmoil he was going through so far from home on the eve of a dangerous campaign. I was so very glad I had found it. And I was astonished that it had survived for six decades.

Here, for the record, is what he had to say:

Darling little fellow,

Daddy got your letter and read it several times. Between the lines I read that you love me. And Daddy loves you too, you and your Mamma. So you be a good little boy for me and look after your mother until I get back, for you are the only man in the family there at home now. And you kiss Mamma good morning for me every morning.

Daddy

P.S. Daddy loves you both.

Next: another closet

My, how the time does fly.

Thirty-three years ago, I moved into my house.

In another couple of weeks, I'll be moving out.

When I first contemplated it, the task of moving from a house and into an apartment was daunting. But now that I've done all of the research -- into real estate agents, moving companies, new apartments -- it seems less complicated.

But it's still going to be a tough row to hoe.

I interviewed three real estate agents. I looked at a half-dozen apartments. I talked to moving companies.

The solution appears to be throwing money at the problem. But selling the house will more than cover that -- and probably cover me for as long as I am on the right side of the grass.

I'll also save money. No more yardman. No more housekeeper. No more property taxes. And the list goes on.

They key to the process is to take it one step at a time. Today, I'll do this. Tomorrow, I'll do that. As the ancient Chinese writer Laozi said, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

The first step is weeding out the junk. Over the past three decades, I have accumulated so much stuff. I've adopted a flexible guideline: If I haven't used it, read it, or needed it for five years, out it goes.

Family and close friends will have first dibs on books, tchotkes, unneeded furniture, etc. The next step will be to call Diversity Thrift.

Anybody need a 1950s wicker picnic basket, complete with checkered tablecloth, early-plastic plates and cups, and an unopened package of paper napkins? There are even slots in the plastic plates to hold the plastic cups. Sixty years ago, the family often used that picnic basket. It's been all over our neck of Virginia, from Natural Bridge to Yorktown. I've had it since my mother died and have never used it.

I spent the past weekend cleaning out two closets and the attic. I bought a 10-pack of yard-waste bags for the throwaway stuff. I used them all, as you can see in the picture above. The trash men hauled it all away this morning.

I have another closet and a pantry to handle next.

One step at a time.

There are lots of small things I'll move myself. If I weren't taking a fitness class five mornings per week, I'd never have the energy to do this.

Moving day is about three weeks away.

I suppose I'd better buy some more big plastic bags.