Answer: That depends on your definition of “out.” All of our boxes are either unpacked — or hidden out of sight.
Upon learning that it’s a quarter-mile from the new house down to the road where the garbage can sits, one friend asked, “So do you drive down to the trash can?”
Answer: Why, yes. Yes, I do. Several times a week, I put garbage in my car and chauffeur it down to the curb. This is preferable to asking my 12-year-old son to walk a quarter-mile with a bag full of garbage, because I think we all know how that would turn out, don’t we?
There are still a dozen or so unpacked boxes squirreled away around the house — down in the basement, up in the attic, stuffed into cabinets and closets.
The house had been functioning smoothly without the contents of those boxes. The only thing I’d really missed was the egg bin for the refrigerator. It’s a real beauty of an egg bin. It can hold three dozen eggs.
We eat a lot of eggs.
I finally came across the egg bin when I was looking for something else. It was on a shelf in the garage, stuck between a tool box and a handful of greasy rags.
It was the night before Thanksgiving when we realized we’d never unpacked the pie plates.
The apples were simmering with cinnamon and cloves on the stove. The cans of pumpkin and evaporated milk were waiting expectantly on the counter. The dough for the pie crusts was chilled and ready to be rolled out.
But there were no pie plates in the cabinet where there should have been pie plates. There were cake pans and muffin tins and loaf pans . . . but no pie plates. I suggested we just bake the pies in casserole dishes and call them “Pie Are Squared,” but nobody else liked that idea. My husband made an emergency run to the grocery store for aluminum pie plates.
The day after Thanksgiving, I set out to gather up the Christmas books. The kids and I try to read a different holiday book each day of Advent season. We’ve amassed quite a collection over the years. I always look forward to revisiting Scrooge and the Magi and the Polar Express.
I couldn’t find the Christmas books.
Visions of unpacked moving boxes danced in my head. I made an emergency run to the library, where I snagged a copy of “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” along with a bunch of new books we’ve never read before.
We will be hosting Christmas dinner in our new house, and panic is beginning to set in. I’m still not used to the new oven, which means meals occasionally turn out extra-crispy.
Also, I’m not quite sure where to put the tree.
Or if we have enough outdoor lights.
Or if we even have outdoor plugs.
Has anybody seen the Christmas china?
Contact Lisa Davis at email@example.com