Easy answer: don’t move.
Mom’s advice (is really an excuse for family history. “Plot exposition. Has to go somewhere.” Name that movie.)
We were not a great family of movers; [. . .specifics about who moved and when: not much on my mom’s side; more on Dad’s side–especially his maternal grandparents, Nano and Gandy.] They lived in north Texas and San Antonio and Port Aransas and Corpus and Port La Vaca (the port of the cow?). [. . .] GrandBetty never gave me moving advice, but Nano had a few words to say about it.
She said one (and by that, she meant me) should always sweep and/or vaccum. Thoroughly. Wipe the baseboards. (Aunt Reba would say that’s good, because they’ll never be wiped again!) Line the kitchen shelves. SCRUB the bathroom. PUT IN A NEW TOILET SEAT (her biggest rule). Check for spiders and scorpions (scorpions probably not a problem in Alexandria) in the closets and under the kitchen sink; also a big rule. She had some more, I think, but that’s what I remember.
The advice reveals some interesting generational gaps. Nano’s generation (my great-grandmother): wipe the baseboards. Aunt Reba (my great-aunt; my grandmother’s generation): yes, wipe the baseboards because you’ll never clean them again! Mom: emails me advice about wiping baseboards, but really it’s a take-it-or-leave-it bit of advice. My generation: I’m not positive about what baseboards are.
The end. I’m living in piles of boxes. I hate moving; HOWEVER, I did not pour a beer on Israel’s head, which is what Mama Rote did to Dad when they moved one time. I’ll tell you about it soon.