Public domain image from
Public domain image from

Pssst . . . Want to buy an old pinball machine? How about two of them? Or three?

Or maybe you would prefer an old Macintosh computer with a 14.4K modem? Or one with a 33K modem? Or a 56K modem?

Then there’s an old stereo system with huge 125-watt speakers?

A couple of leaky old canoes?

How about . . .?

Sigh . . .

Note the common denominator in all of the aforementioned items (do I really need to spell it out?).

I am not the first person to observe that we spend the front end of our lives uploading stuff, and the back end unloading. And it seems to be an awful lot easier uploading than unloading, doesn’t it?

Yes, I am contemplating moving to a smaller home, and the thought of it all is daunting. The hassles involved with preparing and selling my current home and finding and buying a new home are bad enough. But it’s the moving part that really scares me.

I wish I could automate the whole process. Press a button. Presto!

Or assign everything to a secretary.

“Take care of the details, darling,” she says, snapping her fingers.

Or find a professional who could handle everything from A to Z. I simply would have to choose the new home, agree on the sales price of this one, sign whatever, and drive from Point A to Point B on moving day, where everything in my new home would be in place and I could pour myself a glass of wine and . . . write a short blog post, perhaps, called Moving 101 for Blondes (and Dummies).

The other option, of course, is not to move at all, and let somebody else deal with aforementioned stuff after my time in the material world is up. But like so many other people who downsize in the second half of their lives (I refuse to split this subject into quarters), it’s a matter of economics for me. Yes, a story of tangled webs and Sha-la-la-la-la-la, Let’s Live for Today (see The Grass Roots), because although I didn’t hope for it, like many in My Generation (see The Who), I figured I would die before I got old.

Not that I am old yet, of course.

So where am I going with all of this?

With this post?

With “the move”?

With what comes after my sojourn on this little blue planet third from the sun? (see I’m a Stranger Here, Five Man Electrical Band)

I dunno.

Sigh . . .

Whatever . . . It’s the weekend. Time to kick back a bit.

I’ll put everything else on the back burner for now.

— Jillian