Today I hit the bottom of the box of dryer sheets that I bought when we moved. That means that, since May 11--5 months ago--I have done 100 loads of laundry, averaging out to about 20 loads every month, more or less. Surely, that has some milestone-level of import. While Eliot's Prufrock measures out his life in coffee spoons, I apparently choose laundry as my unit of measure.
One hundred baskets of laundry have churned through my life: clean sheets, clean towels, everything from jeans to underwear, from t-shirts to tablecloths, have measured out my days. Each basket represents an hour here, an hour there, tucked between the events and errands of the day. The significant measured by the insignificant.
And--if we measured what we have accomplished in that laundry-measured period...?? Today I can report that we've plateau-ed out. Most things have a place (though occasionally I will open a closet or cabinet and be surprised by a box or bag or piece of silver that was incongruously placed.) This is when you have to recognize that there comes a time in every move when you just say, "That's enough!" and stop. Some things just have to stay where they are until motivation returns.
That may be Christmas. For now, we've stopped moving and started living again.
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