Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.
Don't let your joy and laughter hear the snag
Smile boys, that's the style
What's the use of worrying
It never was worth while
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.

Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.
Just pucker up and whistle (Whistle)
(Whistling)
What's the use of worrying
It never was worth while
So, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag
And smile, smile, smile.

i believe it dates from WWI, and is a British song that the Americans picked up over there Europe way.  I was reminded of that song today as Stephen and I were packing up my books.  Naturally, I just had to look up the lyrics.  Oh, the things we accumulate as we wend our merry or not so merry way through life.  My mother used to say that she wished that she could move just to go through some of the stuff she and my dad had gathered over the decades of their marriage.  I try to purge where I can, but a lot of the things have just too much sentimental and emotional meaning for me as I pack.  Memories come flooding back as I hand Stephen each book, and he wipes the dust off of it.  

I don't mind leaving this house, because it's falling apart around us.  The only reason that it holds together is that the termites are holding hands.  Yes, I know that's an old joke, but in this case it fits.  One thing I most certainly not miss is Tina, the house's resident ghost.  She was an alcoholic who died in the back yard of complications arising from her alcoholism, such as a cirrhotic liver.  Anything that happened, we'd say "Tina!  Return what you took this instant, or there's an exorcism in it for you!"  But I shan't exorcise her now.  She will be the problem of the builders and the future tenants. I hope she gives them no end of trouble so that eventually the house will be empty, and all the money our slumlady spent on tearing down the old house, and building the new will all be for naught.  I just wish I had more money and more time to find a living space. 

Money and time, money and time, with the exception of those money-grubbing billionaires, who ever has enough of either?