Does anyone really like to move?

I have lived in five places in my lifetime, including the house I just moved into last weekend. And I hope I never have to move again. If I do, I might just pitch everything out a window and have a giant bonfire.

OK, so I wouldn’t do that, but the sentiment is there. Moving is awful. I started off carefully packing each thing, wrapping sentimental items in clothing for safekeeping. By the end of packing, I was chucking stacks of things into garbage bags and tossing them down two flights of stairs to my car on the street.

Did it break? Good. Leave it for the garbageman and move on.

How did we get so much stuff? Even my stuff has its own stuff. My essential oil diffuser has all its little bottles of pretty smelling things. My earrings all have tiny little backs that never seem to be stored together. And I think I shall give up pairing socks. I am too much my mother’s daughter to throw away a perfectly good sock because it doesn’t have a mate.

And did I buy out Bath & Body Works? Did I need five bottles of Mango Mandarin body wash?

Now that we are settling in to the new place, where the heck did all the bath towels go? And didn’t we used to have cups?

I am fairly certain our blankets were up to something in the U-Haul, because now we have approximately 32 of them. Maybe we should use them for bath towels.

The last trip to the new house was my sisters’. They brought over a tote with my plants — Kevin and Alistair — in their Mickey and Minnie Mouse planters. They are safely nestled on the kitchen window sill, and I think they are perking up a bit in their new surroundings.

After spending every free moment unpacking and organizing, I’m beginning to think that instead of moving, we should have simply hung up a shingle marked “thrift store” and took what we could get for our belongings.

I hear the latest craze now is the Marie Kondo method of organization — getting rid of items that don’t bring joy into one’s life. Now I’m not one to get joy out of bath towels and body wash, but I’m pretty sure they are important.

A relative recently posted that she had downsized her wardrobe, and kept enough clothing for seven days.

Huh. She must like to do laundry often.

I am all for downsizing, but I can’t bring myself to throw away something that might have some use left in it. I have been “down and out” before in my life and have depended on thrift store and garage sale finds to get by.

And coming from a big family, I certainly know the value of hand-me-downs. My co-workers with children have inherited toys and clothes as my daughter has outgrown them (and sometimes when I can get it out the door without her seeing).

And, I’m happy to say, my co-worker’s daughter loves Mango Mandarin body wash.

As we took a moment to sit in our dining room on Saturday, I picked up a box of photos.

I found a photo of my mother when she was a teen; a photo of my paternal grandfather, who died before I was born; a photo of my parents when they were dating; and an aunt and uncle when they were young.

I sat there for a few moments, smiling at the memories. And then I found a picture of my brothers, Steven and James, both of whom have passed away, and a laminated obituary for my sister Nancy.

I was moved to tears.

That was a reminder that I needed. Life is short. Don’t sweat the petty stuff (and don’t pet the sweaty stuff, as my brothers would say).

So we’re celebrating a new beginning. We’re loving the old-fashioned wallpaper that looks like the Haunted Mansion from Disney World.

We haven’t even hooked up our television in the living room. We’ve been talking. To each other. And laughing. And listening to the neighborhood children outside playing.

And we’re living our lives instead of lamenting bad luck — mismatched socks and all.

(Marcie Schellhammer is the Era’s assistant managing editor. She can be reached at marcie@bradfordera.com)