Native Writes: Sometimes one just must grow up


Just a move across town is complicated, but it can be done.

Alamosa is a wonderful place and I don’t want to live anywhere else.

The learning process came along with the address change. I’m not sure if people have been committing moving fraud, but I can guarantee the amount of paperwork required hints at it.

I can guarantee the paper processors one thing: I have all my info where I can find it; other persons aren’t so fortunate.

Computer access isn’t universal.

Not everyone can simply go online and effect the changes and even if he or she can, the hoops to jump through are daunting.

So much information is involved that I can swear from my own experience that someone here illegally from another country cannot register to vote. I had to re-register to change my address and that is fine — for me.

I have a driver’s license. I wouldn’t swear by the photo on it. I was angry the day I went for it and I am less than happy today.

There is so much information on the license that I was hard put to find the number.

Memo to the government: If something works, why change it? My old license was straightforward and easy to decipher.

I’m certain keeping track of people works — or can work, but don’t make the face of the license difficult to read.

Enough complaining.

Moving to another, nicer and bigger house is wonderful and certainly turned out to be a blessing in disguise for me.

When we moved the freezer from its space of 15 years, there was a scorched spot on the linoleum. Since most people don’t move their freezers and we wouldn’t have, had we not been moving, I wonder how many people may find the same problem.

I read somewhere that dishwashers can catch fire, but I never knew about freezers.

It’s a miracle. So many things have been small miracles.

I can vote, my mail will be forwarded and I am really not the old bat shown on my driver’s license. I don’t have to know the color of the lint in the navel of my firstborn and I don’t have to know if anyone in the family has odd piercings.

Everyone I have contacted has been nice, but not everyone knows what a faucet connector for a portable dishwasher looks like. I know what the one that was left in the new house looks like, but it doesn’t work. I know, because when I fastened it on, turned on the water and took an unexpected shower. So did the cat, which fled under the bed.

It’s sort of interesting finding places for everything. Touching everything I own is amazing. It’s time for the things that were of sentimental value even 10 years ago to be replaced with new memories.

Now, how do I force myself to get rid of the items? They will go, but not without a few tears.

Come to think of it, moving is a time to grow up.

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