No, I’m not leaving Substack. I’m packing our personal belongings in order to put our home on the market.
Packing Orders
My blunt, cursing bestie, Diane, is also our Real Estate broker. She gave us a list of instructions--
“Get rid of the photos,” she said.
“But that’s the family wall.”
“No one wants to see your sh-t. Buyers have to be able to picture their own sh-t in your house.”
I remembered when Jeffrey and I were looking to buy, and there was one family that left their photos everywhere. I was busy looking at their cute kids when I should have been flipping the switch to make sure the fireplace worked.”
“You taking any light fixtures?” Diane said.
“The antique sconces I’ve dragged around the country and installed in 5 different houses.”
“Replace them before we hit the market.”
We entered the living room. No furniture because who really uses a living room? Okay, two side chairs that have never been sat upon.
I cowered at the sight of our Jewishness on display. “I’ve got a lot of Jew-ro-bilia. Gone?”
“Pack it up, Bubbala.”
I love the framed 1968 Salvador Dali poster designed for the “Rebirth of Israel” exhibition. I’ll need a lot of padding.
The Shofar1 my eldest sister bought my son, Dylan, in Israel when we were there for our kids’ B’nai Mitzvah will be a challenge to pack. Of course, Dylan had to have the longest, curliest ram’s horn, just to annoy mom, me, who would be carrying it on the flight home. (I made Jeffrey deal with it.) Once home, there was nowhere to put it so it lived on the top shelf in Dylan’s closet—you know, that pointless ledge that you can’t reach without a step stool? Dylan had no room for it in college, so Jeffrey and I became the proud adoptive owners of a Shofar that now happily extends over the entire fireplace mantel in the empty living room. It’s also being used as a weight to anchor an unfurled Israeli flag, like a forever Christmas stocking, as a reminder of our family, our tribe, all 14 million of us who are fending off moronic hate again.
“The Jew gear really has to go?” I asked Diane.
“Yeah. Sorry. But lookie, I got my kick ass earrings on today.”
Diane showed me her Magen David2 earrings even though she isn’t Jewish. She wears them proudly and in solidarity.
“The door knocker needs to come down too,” she said. “What’s with the girl on the swing—it’s too f-cking complicated.”
“My mom got it for us as a housewarming. It’s a McKenzie Childs.”
“Who? No. We want plain.”
I noticed the Mezuzah and sighed.
“Do I need to remove all the Mezuzahs too?”
Diane looked pensive. Then--
“No,” she said.
“I don’t want my house to be vandalized.”
“It’ll be fine. Most people don’t even know what it is.”
(Here ya go— Mezuzah— “Doorpost” in Hebrew. The Shema prayer is written on a tiny scroll tucked inside a decorative object to be hung in every doorway of a Jewish home. We’re supposed to touch it each time we enter, then kiss those fingers. If my hands are dirty I’ll give it an air kiss. Here’s further deets if interested.)
Happy Two Years
As I removed my life from the walls, carefully wrapping and boxing memories, I thought about how grateful I am for my family and these picture frames that have lasted 20 years. And who invented this special nail that slides in and out of the wall without leaving a mark?
But I realized I’ve had another support system for two years, my Substack family.
I’ve been delivering essays almost every week, and an interview with a Funny AF Woman once a month. It’s been an honor to serve up humor and heart. I’ve grown to over 1200 subscribers and still counting. I love this community and the conversations in the comments. I know, dear reader, you have a lot of superb choices of writers on Substack and I’m honored you selected me to be one of them.
There’s nothing like a house prep, spring cleaning, moving, any sort of ending, to jostle your world and reevaluate the past as well as the future. I feel so lucky to have such supportive subscribers, a hubby who wipes down the counters after cooking, a collection of blankets in every room because I get cold easily, and an electric tea kettle with temperature settings.
Thank you for being here. I hope I will continue to deliver to your satisfaction.
I’m thrilled to take you on my next journey across country.
In the meantime, did you know that moving boxes are like wedding dresses? Frickin’ expensive, cumbersome and only used once.
Yours in cardboard monotony,
CK (Carissa to you)
1. Do you spring clean?
2. Do you have a family wall? Or table?
3. Thoughts about anything.
Shofar— A ram’s horn used as a trumpet in Jewish ceremonies, especially the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Magen David— Jewish star or Star of David.
Am I being overly dramatic if I say I’d rather die than move again?
Good luck with it though!
Having packed up and moved many, many times and also prepared houses for sale, I empathise and wish you well for this part of the process. It is sad and exciting all at once. A chance to reflect and a chance to put new plans into action. Btw, our packing boxes have been re-used multiple times, but not my wedding dress, though it still fits!
Congratulations on two Substack years. That's a lot of words and lots of laughs you've produced! I'm glad and blessed to be part of your community. 🥰