First, let me say how much I hate moving. I don't mean it's just a hassle. I'm saying that it makes me seriously look at torching the house rather than pack up all this crap and schlep it to another house.
What stops me is we'd lose things like this. In that trunk we unlocked were these dog tags. They belonged to Jenny's father. I've written about him before, but it's a story that's worth repeating.
Bill was a young lieutenant in June 1944, when he jumped from an airplane into the darkness over France. His boots would be among the first on the ground on D-Day. It was chaos. The pilots, never having been shot at before, lost their formations as they tried to evade German anti-aircraft fire. They missed their drop zones and when Bill and his men did jump, they were scattered all over the countryside, some far from their objectives. Bill was cut off from his men, alone in enemy territory where he survived for nearly three weeks until he was captured and sent to a prisoner of war camp.
We have his medals, his CIB and his rank insignia, but we didn't know we had these, his dog tags, probably the most personal of all military items any dogface ever carries.
This is why I don't just torch the house.
Now, I'm off to Pheonix. When I return, I'll have pictures to share.