I am in cardboard hell. The moving truck arrived at our house last Tuesday. The movers were terrific. They did a great job. But now my house is filled, room by room with tall and short boxes. Did you know that cardboard boxes are odorous? They breathe and give off the damnedest odors. It’s a sour smell, made all the worse by humidity. Yesterday a friend of mine visited and turned vaguely green. “Oh,” he said. “Boxes! Oh god!”
Connie and I have moved five times in the past 14 years. We move so much it’s like we’re in the witness protection program. Our latest move to Syracuse promises to be our last. We’re happy with that idea. But we’re shell shocked among our own possessions. We don’t know how to unpack. We move like robots, mechanically picking up small things and puting them down again. God Alighty! I think we need a marching band! A sportscaster: “Look! She’s picked up the soup tureen! She’s put it in the cupboard! What an AMAZING play! Can you believe it?”
In a nation with so many unemployed people it’s callow to whine about stinking boxes. I know this. But I’m telling you all the same: they stink. This side up. Fragile. Send to basement. They are bad boys!
Planet of the Blind 
Professor Kuusisto, I am rightly devastated to hear that Iowa is losing you! You’ve got the bug like Dean! You’re on the roof of America!
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Not to basement! Roaches eat them.
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Facing my own move, I feel your pain altogether too well! Will we ever find that whatsit that we put in some ‘safe’ place?
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