Return to table of contents.

Read next sample.

We all knew the jade tree would have to leave with the last one out the door.

She and I had already survived a moving experience without either of us remembering. Thankfully, the tree and I were sheltered from the hubbub, both of us being too young at the time to get involved in the day's chaos.

Now, practically twenty years later, my family was moving again. Jade and I were clueless about how to prepare for the event.

We should have been making checklists, wrapping fragile items in newspaper and carting loads of boxes to our new house. At least, that's what the advice columns, we should have been reading, said.

All I could think about, instead, were the shows on television portraying moving day as the ultimate emotional experience.

I visualized myself in one sad scene remembering sticky, sweet birthday cakes on our kitchen table, summer evenings on our deck and gatherings with friends around the fireplace. In taking one last loving look around our house, I was agreeing with Dorothy's sentiment, "There's no place like home."

Jade's method of coping was to simply sit silently in her favorite sunny spot.

Maybe she was meditating on the move or perhaps because she was far from being considered a seedling anymore, she was oblivious to what was about to happen. It was hard to tell with Jade. She never had a way with words.

We continued in these trance-like states for weeks. Before we knew exactly how to proceed, it was Moving Eve night.

Just as children have trouble sleeping on the night of Santa's arrival, so were we restless knowing the moving men would be pulling into the driveway the next morning. With the intent of depleting our nervous energy, my parents rented a U-Haul hoping a head start on the transporting of our goods would help us settle into slumber. The more cartons, cases and cupboard contents we carried out, the more mosquitoes moved into our house through our ever-opening front door.

The last night we slept in our old bedrooms, we spent swatting at both real and imaginary buzzing sounds and itching. Little did we know that the insect repellent that bore the name, "Off," would play such a key role in sending us off to our new home.

As scheduled, the two men in a truck arrived the next morning.

At first, they seemed confident and maybe even a bit cocky that our job would be a snap. After all, we didn't have a Pit Bull named, "Cuddley" that hated intruders.

Gradually though, the mover's spirits fell and Jade started to look disgusted in a droopy sort of way.

No one had even attempted to lay their hands on her yet. It was agreed she would be the last to leave.

Not just anyone could take her to the new house. She was too delicate for the moving men to load in the truck, too heavy and lopsided for one of her female caretakers to lift and just plain too imposing and dignified to withstand the aggravation of moving, if we weren't going to survive the transplant ourselves.

We had our doubts, to be honest, but the movers' muscles rippled as they continued to heave the love seat, the china cabinet and even the king-size bed onto the truck.

These men may have already been tired at l0 a.m., but they were tenacious.

The more I watched them, the more they reminded me of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Even though they appeared to have the strength of the Terminator, they weren't looking forward to moving the player piano in our basement.

At least they didn't have to be embarrassed to take it outside. When we first bought the piano, it was painted a shocking fire engine red and all the neighbors stared at the monstrosity. Eventually, we had the paint removed and the piano was stained a sensible sienna.

In spite of the variety of rolls of music we had for it to play, we didn't have one to make the piano play our theme song that day. "Movin', movin', movin', keep them doggies movin', Raw Hide!"

These words echoed through my mind as I kept on packing.

Somehow I felt that the more I packed away, the more miscellaneous possessions I uncovered. This sensation started to make my stomach feel woozy and my head pound wildly.

No wonder those pioneers in covered wagons dropped off and died when they tried to cross the Cumberland Gap.

Fortunately for me, I had Excedrin. No, I'm sorry the medicine cabinet and the necessities therein had already made their way onto the truck.

Then, I saw it! I found my way to escape! I had to make a trip to the drug store.

Free at last, I lingered in the aisles trying to extend the sweet relief as long as I could by picking up some chocolate bars and the aspirin, of course. I was thoroughly enjoying myself until I thought of Jade, at home, suffering and sweltering in the August heat.

"Honey, I'm home," I called softly to Jade when I stepped in the door.

By this point, she was looking rather wilted and so were my parents and the movers. The big pieces were finally out of the house, but the number of incidentals that remained was almost beyond belief.

We had yet to load the vacuum cleaner, the punch bowl, the snack trays, the luggage and hundreds of other items, including 448 Christmas ornaments, all of the precious mouth-blown glass variety, that came from intoxicating places like Czechoslovakia and Italy.

As much as I would have like to have been in one of those locations myself, I was reminded of my present position and predicament by a knock at our front door. "Oh, good," I thought. "Someone has come to help."

We had no such luck. Instead, the guest at our door was the new owner of our house checking to be sure we would be out by midnight. Optimistically, firmly, we assured him we would be and kept moving right along.

Jade perked up a bit as the afternoon sun sunk.

Around 6 p.m., my parents and I started sweating again. It was dinnertime and we were hungry, but we didn't want the movers thinking it was quitting time. "When were they going to give up and call it a day," we wondered.

One of their beepers started going off. When he returned the calls, he seemed to be appeasing a girlfriend who was ready to party. "I'll be there soon. Just give me a little longer," he said.

"Movin', movin', movin', keep them movers movin', Raw Hide!"

The thought of sitting down for a rest or collapsing never really occurred to us, because all the chairs and beds were long gone and the floor looked disgustingly dirty. Amidst all the dustballs, I did find some contentment.

In some respects my moving time was the day I felt most at peace in my old house. Now even its narrowest cracks and crevices were revealed to me and none of its secrets were too personal. Keys, nickels, photos and a linty, lime Lifesaver were found and returned to signify our relationship was over.

Before we left though, we had our last supper in our home and still some final packing to do.

The meal wasn't anything fancy. Without any plates, we ate double cheese pizza while standing at our kitchen counter.

The movers were welcome to dine with us, but they declined our invitation preferring to scarf their slices in their own rig and listen to twangy country music.

Feeling refreshed with full bellies, we exerted our last bit of oomph and emptied our house. Now, we were alone with Jade.

I had expected the moment to be a tear-stained one in which I remembered all the memories, both fond and bittersweet, that had thrived in our home.

This was the house where I lost my first tooth, I learned my goldfish slid down the sink and I left in a sparkling gown for the high school senior prom.

I'm not sure what particular remembrances Jade had of her own, but being my kindred spirit, I'm sure she was too tired to think of them anyway.

With Jade in my father's arms and my mother holding the front door open, we made our grand, but not moving, exit.

Jade, indeed, left with the last one out the door. I was ahead of her piling my way into our car.

The thought of taking a final look at my old home sweet home never occurred to me, perhaps because the clock in our dashboard read sometime after midnight and all I could think about was how soon Jade and I would be tucked in for the night.

We were home free and homeward bound.