I hate moving. The last time I moved was about 12 years ago. Last month I had to move due to some unusual circumstances—I really had no choice, I wasn’t happy where I was. So I did it. The first day was the worst—the movers showed up late, I was waiting and getting more anxious by the minute. I called them up several times and always received the stock reply: “We’ll be there soon.” They finally arrived about 90 minutes late. Most of my big stuff (like my Yamaha Clavinova) was packed up pretty fast by them. Soon everything was on the truck, on its way to my new abode.

Yes, I’ve moved in with Mom. She has been living alone since my dad passed away more than two and a half years ago. Somehow or other I thought it’d be good for the both of us and guess what, I’m very happy here in my new place. It’s been three weeks since I landed in my new home and so far so good—I’m surprised that Mom allows me my own private space and I reciprocate the gesture too. Did some minor refurbishments to the music/computer room and my bedroom, but that’s about it. I also discovered that the tile and wooden floors were a mess, sticky and with some bug “deposits.” Can’t fault Mom because she’s in her seventies and I don’t expect her to do cleanups on a regular basis. So I took it on myself to do the housecleaning chores. Never knew I could do it with such a vengeance! I swept the floors, mopped with disinfectant, removed all those disgusting bug droppings, wiped the furniture, etc. etc. I got some good exercise and the place certainly looks cleaner now. And Mom is probably pleased with it.

Moving house is a big decision. I’m so glad I did it, but this may not be the last time I move. I’ll just wait and see.

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