I have already filled 17 boxes and 6 bins. And that is in addition to the many Rubbermaid bins in the basement crawl space that are the "other" stuff - the felted wool sweaters, the blanket wool, etc. I guess I can no longer kid my poor husband about the many, many, many boxes of hardcover books that he is moving to the new place. I am probably keeping stride with him - box for box.
Since the movers told us we didn't have to empty the big pieces, as long as there weren't bottles or breakables in there, I have shoeboxes of worms and small pieces of wool in two pieces and all my miscellaneous tools and necessities in others.
The walls are bare. I have taken down all my rugs and rolled them into my "hockey bag" (which has never actually been to a hockey arena). It was actually my daughter's camp bag many years ago and has carried my rugs to virtually every school and workshop I have taught in the past 8 years.
For the first time in over 5 years, I have packed away all my circular knitting needles, my dye samples and the other things that used to hang on hooks from a support pole in the middle of the room.
As I purged each of the pieces of furniture in the studio, I came across a few things that I hadn't seen in quite a while. This is one such item - a rock I painted in the 80's that serves as a door stop (or a very very large paper weight) and it pretty much describes how I feel about the whole process of moving. Between the lists, the packing, the prepping for a garage sale and getting ready for my class, this pretty much says it all.