This self-inflicted mayhem results in the most tortuous of physical and psychological tests. Only the most resolute make it through the entire process with personal tenets of faith and solid relationships intact.
Here, I am speaking of moving in the ultimate sense - moving one’s entire household belongings from a carefully orchestrated arrangement in one deftly managed abode to an abstract “House of Mirrors” in which original illusions concerning placement of furniture and personal items are revealed for their errors in original judgment.
“The couch needs to go at an angle, Darling.”
“That would mean that the rug would be exposed at odd places, Sweetheart“
“Not when we place the new end tables I ordered, Snookums.”
To which you wish you could offhandedly reply,
“Oh, I meant to tell you. The store called to say they are out of stock, but they can go ahead and deliver the pool table.”
But that would be mean, not to mention foolhardy.
Placement of items is actually the easy part. The hard part is moving the darn stuff out of a house or condo, loading it onto a truck, moving it into a new place, along with several thousand boxes or assorted clothing, books, bathroom and kitchen stuff; packing, moving, unpacking, until you just want to get everything under one roof no matter where it ends up.
“We’ll sort it out later.” becomes the cry, which usually means it will now become a project for the rest of one’s natural life.
“Have you seen the iron?”
“I’m pretty sure in was in the box with your socks and underwear.”
“At least I found the coffee pot, thank Heaven.”
“Any idea where the filters might be?”
On and on.
I prepared myself for this grueling adventure by getting fairly physically fit, putting money in the offering plate at church and doing breathing and relaxation exercises for a month. I was totally unprepared. Not even Yoga has found a way to lessen the actual dead weight and awkwardness of a sleeper couch.
We had some excellent help, by the way. The guys who did most of the heavy lifting, including carrying their loads up a six-step entrance, never complained, and were great at taking good care of the fragile stuff. Our new neighbors came out en masse to help unload the truck and the ladies even pitched in and cleaned nooks and crannies left untouched by a professional crew.
This was great stuff - a reminder of golden, olden days when folks really cared about each other and pitched in to help. This kind of warm acceptance was what finally sold us on moving in the first place.
Our new digs back up against the national forest. A nice wooden deck on the back has a wonderful view of the Rim. These were prime requisites on our list in looking for a place to move. We had hoped to find good friends as neighbors, but that was serendipity, as it turned out. When the total package presented itself, we were hooked.
We weren’t really looking all that hard. The place sort of found us. We had gone to look at a charming place on the street where we ultimately moved. It was too small, we decided.
As we drove down the street, another sign appeared at a bit of a “fixer-upper” which seemed to offer a lot of potential. It had the size and the location. Could we afford it?
As it turned out, the owner was motivated and worked with us to get the deal done. He offered to make improvements in answer to some of our concerns.
“It ain’t perfect,” as we like to say, “but it’ll certainly do for poor folks.”
For six years, we lived in a very nice condominium/apartment near Rumsey Park. It suited our needs just fine, even though it was only two bedrooms, two baths and overall about 1,200 square feet.
Our new place is more than twice that size, and we still haven’t found a place for all our “stuff” yet. Where on earth did it all fit in the condo?
We are contemplating selling that secret to the Ringling Bros. This could replace the old act where lots and lots of guys pile out of a small car.
It’s done now, and, so help me, it will be our last move, at least willingly. We put aside a reasonable budget for the move and exceeded it. We planned a few days to get the job done, and grossly underestimated the time required. We had hoped to have a “housewarming” party in the next few weeks, but that probably won’t happen unless we can keep everyone out on the deck and forbid looking inside. My chiropractor is planning a cruise with the fresh income he is receiving.
But, hey! The microwave heats the pizza well enough, and the refrigerator keeps the beer cold. We actually overslept our first morning, because of the peaceful quiet. The neighbors are still offering to help out in many ways.
When things attempt to get us down, we just sit on the deck and watch the sun paint pastel arrangements on the rocks of the eastern horizon. This is why we came, and this is where, the Lord willing, we plan to stay.
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