Wednesday, May 21—One week after closing on house, first official day of “vacation,” which I begin by mowing my duplicitous lawn (half jungle thicket, half quicksand), for the last time (insert maniacal laughter) with the Toro mower that is missing its self-propel drive and weighs slightly less and maneuvers slightly better than a three legged ox. This ensures that I begin my moving adventure with a head start on muscle aches, physical malaise, and a hearty head and lungs full of dirt.
Wednesday, May 22–Friday May 23—I spend my time packing what has not been packed and moving as much as I can down the road to the new place. When I say down the road, I mean, down the road. Given the unfortunate circumstances, I could, hypothetically, cart my belongings over to the new place one-by-one in a little Red Flyer wagon. Of other and rather proud note, I discover that I can fit fifteen boxes in my Mazda Protégé.
Saturday, May 24, The Big Day—Wake up with sinus headache from Hell. Left leg has apparently had enough of this moving stuff –maybe it was the twenty boxes of books?—and makes the processes of standing, sitting, and bending a one-sided affair. This would be okay but I, like much of the human race, am a biped, so this does not actually work out. Movers arrive a little later than scheduled, inventorying things as they go and making me aware that the nice furniture I inherited has all sorts of chips and dings I wasn’t aware of. Truck is loaded in around two hours; movers will take an half hour lunch break and meet me at the new place a quarter of a mile down the street (at the same rate as they would an hour move). I rush to McDonald’s gulp down lunch, and then decide I can get a few more things moved between houses in the meantime.
I notice that the moving truck is parked on the side of the road near my “old house.” Interesting, are they too big to take a break in the fast food parking lot? The phone rings. There are mechanical issues with the truck but they will work on it.
Three-plus hours later, phone rings. All three movers have tried to no avail to fix truck. Another truck has arrived and they will just have to move everything to that truck.
Noting the time, I go to Publix for a small frozen pizza, water, and some Corona Light. Truck arrives a bit later. (Total moving miles = .25, Total moving time = 4 hours.)
Sunday, May 25–Wednesday May 28—Left leg now hurts if I simply stand. Despite this, still much of the fifteen years of stuff left to move from house to house.
Doing laundry I note that my dryer now actually dries everything in one cycle—huzzah! Meanwhile, there is an unholy stench and debris in the shower. I soon realize that when the rinse cycle occurs, water is backing up into the shower and the toilet becomes a bubbling spa. Things to look forward to …
Thursday, May 29–May 30—Back to work. I am pleased to come to the end of my vacation and get back to work where I can relax … at least physically. Off to a rough start with computer but do get up and running. Leg feels better after two days.
Saturday and Sunday, May 31–June 1—Scramble to remove remaining stuff from house. Right leg becomes afflicted this time. It is very hot. Removing some shelves from wall, I discover that there are a couple of stripped screws which I must struggle to remove. These screws are overhead even on a ladder. My arm, despite its protests, remains attached to my body. I discover that the wonderful painters that were hired to paint a few years ago must have run into the same problem with the screws. I come to this conclusion as I remove the shelves and look at the old paint in the spaces where they used to sit.
Friday, June 6—Wake to rather warm and stuffy house. Call A/C company that worked on old house, replace part I recently replaced at old house. Grit teeth but welcome return of cold air with banners and kazoos.
Saturday June 7—Time to clean the old place. I see the Sale sign in the yard. I do not plan to overdo it. Just get the black widow webs out from under the porch ledges as best I can, eggs attached, and dust, vacuum, clean counters. Well, then I discovered the fridge, free of food, could be nearly completely dismantled. As I finish my archeological expedition, someone comes into the house. Once my heart began beating again, I realized that realtors were bringing in people to view the house. There are clumps of dust and dog fur where I left them in wait of this day when I would vacuum. People had just walked into “my house.” I didn’t know whether to feel mortified or violated. I started on the oven, making things even prettier as another few couples drifted in.
I finish at seven, grateful. After sitting and relaxing at home, I attempt to get up and both legs protest nearly plopping me back in the chair. I tell my daughter, “Your mother is going to be a cripple tomorrow.” She responds, “That’s what you get for being a middle-aged woman.”
Part 1 | (Part 2)