Johnny lay there under the covers with an anvil on his chest -- how had it come to this?

If only he hadn't misplaced that book! You know, the one that savvy grownups turn to when things get rough. Maybe then he'd have a better grasp of what was going on. He was always better at thinking than doing, but his train of thought had turned in on itself and now went round and round his head in an evil clattering circle. . .

The anvil was a new sensation. Johnny had just had a complete physical examination and was "ridiculously healthy," in his doctor's words. Nothing there to indicate the presence of a dangerous heaviness that threatened to pop his poor little heart. No, he had no excuse. The clean bill of health meant the weight on his chest was something he had put there!

Johnny was getting ready to move, you see, and the days were flying by in a headlong rush.. He was "planning" on-the-fly even as he tumbled along toward the inevitable, and every day brought more questions he wished he could answer. What to do? Pray?? Just where was that damned manual, anyway? He wasn't sure he'd ever actually laid eyes on it, but Johnny had always assumed he had such a thing. It just never seemed that important until now. Somehow he managed to breathe under the weight of it all, lacking such counsel, but for how long?

One of the first things he remembered, or thought he did, was that pulling up stakes and heading for another place had been easier in the old days. It wasn't only because he had once been able to toss all his worldly goods into the back seat and just go, either. No, this was more complex. It had to do with life-RAM, whether there was enough raw brainpower left to deal with everything: what to keep? What to sell? What to leave? Whom to call? Where to go? What to do?

No wonder it was easier for kids, Johnny thought. In his early twenties the issues would have been food, shelter, and sex, not necessarily in that order. Since the first two generally had to be paid for, the list could be condensed to just money and sex. He remembered the long stretches of neither and shivered! At least he had enjoyed more of the latter than the former, he reflected. If there was to be an imbalance, let it fall on that side.

There had never been a lot of money, that was true. So where then had all this stuff come from??? (Johnny made a mental note to check the FAQs in the grownup manual if he ever found it.)

He thought about his all-important computer equipment and how he could best carry it all when they moved. He wondered what to do with the LC II. He tried to rationalize a new iMac purchase ("this one's yours, darlin'!") and came very, very close. (He also noticed that whenever he thought about the iMac, the anvil went away and he could breathe!) Computers were easy, he thought, because they were essential. Besides, there there those carefully-preserved boxes in the basement. Just chase out a few spiders and that stuff would be ready to roll.

All at once Johnny remembered his tools! He rolled his eyes in the dark. After first heaving a sigh he then realized he was actually rather proud to have accumulated most of the things he'd ever wanted. There was something about being well-equipped that just made a man feel more like a man!

Ever since Johnny had moved to the country and acquired an authentic prewar garage, he had allowed himself to buy and own everything that was necessary for life on 2.57 acres: he had rakes, weedcutters, hoses, machetes, axes, grinding wheels, hammers, wrenches, a lawn sweeper, a gas trimmer, an electric hedge clipper, sprayers, pruning saws, shovels, hoes, ladders, buckets, tire chains, a battery charger, automotive tools, jacks, ramps, steel pry-bars, nails, screws, and more. In the house itself and in his studio he had plumbing tools, a gas welding outfit, an electric chainsaw, bronze casting tools, a power saw, painting tools, an electric pump, fans, woodcarving tools, and a thousand different little specialty tools, like studfinders, electrical testers, eyeglass screwdrivers, magnifiers, and the like. He also had chunks of steel and bronze, a ton of art supplies, and great piles of steel fenceposts, sections of pipe, and old lumber. Finally, he had his own motor vehicle department: a 30-year-old 5-horsepower Evinrude, a once-self-propelled Sears power mower, the antediluvian John Deere 110, and an '87 Ford F-150. He was ready for anything, except moving.

Should he sell everything and buy new stuff later, or ship it all off for 75 cents a pound?* Maybe the manual could help with this, but Johnny was already calculating how much he could save by leaving this or that behind. He had to admit that the idea of travelling light was very liberating, but would he miss having all this equipment? Would he still be a manly man?

Casting his thoughts back to the beige menagerie, Johnny suddenly saw the similarities to his garage! His software utilities collection was just as awesomely useful as all the slashing, bashing, and whacking implements gathered about the estate. He had plenty of tools for "just in case," whether the subject was homesteading or computing. In fact, the overkill was much more evident on the digital side. He had even bought an extra 19.2K modem for the PowerBook 540c. That was like having a spare 6-volt radio for your '57 Volkswagen, he thought. At least when it came time to sell the laptop, afficionados would be grateful, assuming he could find one.**

Good Lord! He hadn't even gotten to furniture, appliances, clothes, books, personal documents, sacred objects, or the family history collection, and already he was swamped with indecision and doubt! Should they store everything here first? Move all at once? Store things there? Sell it all off?? Would he ever be able to buy a hand saw, bathroom rug, or 15-year-old Apple monitor again??? Things were getting down to the nub, Johnny thought. It was time to zap the psy-PRAM, reset all the control panels, and find a way to get big. If there wasn't any such thing as a grownup manual, well. . .

For one thing, here he lay in bed aware only of the anvil on his chest and not the perfumed head by his shoulder. (What slander! Even Johnny could see right away that was brainless.) There were other fundamentals sloshing back and forth under the surface, too: psychic tides, mood swings, hordes of warring demons. All this indulgent crap would have to go. Drag it to the freakin' trash, he vowed.

The "manual," though short, was taking form: (1) sleep with a naked (your choice) instead of an anvil, and (2) stop thinking bad thoughts, you moron! Compressed to a mantra, it read: choose good things. Maybe it was that simple after all.

He remembered the iMac idea. He remembered his wife's pride at her career accomplishments and her outrageously brave willingness to try something new. He saw himself as a hip Internet dude flying in to visit friends and family. He thought about cross-country skiing and Easter in Prague. He imagined how it would feel to walk down the street and see a mountain. At a certain point he forgot about the anvil, which had already floated off anyway.

The transformation was complete: Johnny realized that he and his wife would be no beleaguered refugees in need of rescue, but seasoned pros on the road to a new gig!

He turned on his side, bunched the cool feather pillow up under his cheek, and drifted off almost immediately. The only thing they lacked was a way to bring their friends along, but it was a big country and there was still time.

John H. Farr also edits the Apple Computer News for Applelinks.com and is happy to read and probably answer your emails. His own Web site is called the ZOO ZONE for reasons explained in the Answer Engine (???).

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* The extrapolated average cost for moving personal goods two thousand miles.

** Yes, there will always be a few. It is a lovely piece of work.

January 08, 2009