I am in the final stages of packing.
The last time I moved (six months ago), it took me about an hour or so to gather up my belongings and put them in the truck.
And then I had to drive only four blocks to the new house.
You would think this move would be easier. After all, I am merely packing things for storage. No transportation required.
But you would be wrong.
It is strange how a broken ankle changes everything. I can carry a few items at a time with my crutches. Such as moving my books, volume by volume, across the apartment.
But once the containers are full, there is no way for me to lift them.
Dora stopped by on Wednesday to pull down the containers and my luggage from the storage area. That helped a lot. But I now have containers strewn throughout the house awaiting their final destination.
When I was leaving the hospital, I realized that I would not be able to take any luggage with me on the flight north. The problem will be trying to get through Customs in time to catch my connecting flight. Even though the airline will provide a wheel chair, I will simplify my life by traveling with a back pack.
There is something final about storing all of my possessions. I feel almost as if I am about to take a trip to some strange land. Even knowing that I will be returning in just over six months does not completely eliminate the nostalgia I am already feeling for Mexico.
But I will enjoy my respite up north. Heal my ankle.
And next year -- Mexico.