Moving. Ugh.

I swore the last time, when we bought our sweet little farm we love so much, that it was our last move. “Never again!” was the rallying cry as we slogged through the stacks of boxes and bubble wrap.

Midcoast resident Heather D. Martin wants to know what’s on your mind; email her at heather@heatherdmartin.com.

I meant it, too. I love this place and would have been perfectly content to spend my remaining years here watching the seasons change and the horses frolic. But then my mom made it her final request that “the house,” a quaint little timber frame cape built in 1818, stay in the family.

This is not the house where I grew up, but it is the house where my parents were happiest – and the house in which I sat with my mom as she died. So, sure.

That is a request I am prepared to honor.

I want to state at the outset, right here and now, while the idea of saving this house is still sort of exciting … it was a choice. My sisters were great, no pressure. They were perfectly willing to let it go.

So, when the inevitable happens and I find myself swearing in a different way over frozen pipes, having to walk to the farm down the road to see my horses, or the exponential squirrel infestation, y’all can remind me – I have only myself to blame.

At the moment, all the colorful swearing is centered around the move itself. In a lot of ways, it is, or at least it should be, the easiest one ever. The distance is relatively small, kids are grown and out, the timeline is forgiving. It ought to be no big deal.

It is a big deal.

I have hit that space where nowhere feels comfy, nothing is settled, life is in boxes and the dogs are stressed out. I don’t like it.

Which is why, I suppose, I am choosing to focus on and obsess over things which would otherwise be minor inconveniences. Trivial things, really, which at the moment feel big. One of these is the Goodwill.

Turns out, there are more rules than I knew. Things I genuinely thought might be helpful, like the nearly-new ironing board (because, for real, if something can’t be worn ‘as is’ out of the dryer, it has no business in my life) was rejected.

It wasn’t the only thing.

Rejection meant I had to repack those things for my trip to the transfer station where they’d land in the “give-and-go,” get recycled, or hit the heap.

That got me wondering, why don’t we have these things side by side?

We have a community comprised of folks who sometimes have extra to share, and sometimes need a little help. What if, beside the places where a person can go to buy low-cost items that maybe meet a higher standard, we also have the “give-and-go” for free taking, a collection center for bottles to charity, a place to recycle and a place to toss whatever can’t be reused or recycled?

One-stop disposal, plus folks needing things would have options without having to drive to another location.

While we are at it, let’s set up a food pantry on the same site, and maybe offices for housing assistance, pro bono legal services, and employment offices.

We seem to have an abundance of empty, vacant, big box stores. Let’s convert one. We could possibly even have free showers to boot. Oh, and maybe solar banks, or experimental rooftop gardens.

OK, I admit this idea was begun with my own selfish desire to make moving less painful, so it is possible I have blinders on and am missing the “why not,” but it seems like it could be a useful hub for our communities.

In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be over here trying to find the edge on the roll of packing tape.