Where are my bandaids?

Three days into the unpacking and much progress to report.

The kitchen is now entirely unpacked, organized and ready for use.  Mr. NYer, unfortunately, has a map of the old kitchen hard-wired in his brain, and can’t find anything.  I’ve explained the logic endlessly:  the flatware and dishes are near the table, for ease when setting it.  The food prep utensils, like vegetable peelers, are to the right of the sink, near the knives. The cooking utensils, like wooden spoons, are in a drawer next to the stove.

The new kitchen is spacious, airy and bright.  But it’s not familiar, and this makes Mr. NYer grumpy.  This morning, after he complained for the third time about the location of the microwave light, I laid down a new rule:  every complaint had to be balanced with a comment about something he liked.  A little later, he grumbled about the way the pots were stored.  “And … , ” I prompted.  “… what’s something you like in our new kitchen.”

Barely skipping a beat, he looked around, then in my direction.  “I like you.”

Grrr.

The dining room, with my mother’s crystal and the china I bought as a belated gift from her shortly after she died, are in the cabinet.  The computer is sitting on the desk in the den, alongside the printer, router, and external drive. Towels and sheets are on shelves; clothes, including the winter wear we may never need again–or at least in the quantity we have it–have been hung in the various closets.

We have an attic storage room where the boxes of books and records await unpacking at our leisure, after we’ve decided on shelves.

In other words, the big boxes are empty, and what’s left is clearly identifiable as books, records, pictures, my bank collection, or “basement” stuff.

I have no idea where the band-aids are.  These, along with all the other medicinal supplies, the baskets of hotel soaps, the electric clippers we bought when the Abandoned One adopted a buzz cut–all have vanished.  Mr. NYer says all the boxes that left the house in NY arrived in the house in Montgomery, so these items are hiding.  There are no more boxes labeled “linen closet.”

In the grand scheme of things, we’re talking about a quick trip to CVS and about a year’s worth of business trips to replace the misplaced items.  And once I replace them, I’ll probably pull a box of “books” from that attic utility room and find a box o’ melted soap instead.

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4 Responses

  1. It was three YEARS after we moved into our last house before we finally opened the last box and discovered there were things we really didn’t need in our lives (and closets) after all.

  2. As long as you’ve found the banks!

  3. Perhaps you will find the thermometer I haven’t seen sice we live in Richmond. Maybe it in one of the unpacked boxes from your last SI move. Of course, I can’t imagine why it would be ther; but that is the rub with lost things…

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