We are almost on our way! Going out East where we belong. (At least that's what my mother tells me.) Well, we are going to find out.
It's been very stressful. I love going places, but I hate moving. Guess I've never heard anyone say, "We had a great move. I love it. Wish I could do it every month." Up there with death, taxes, public speaking, the dentist, politics, high school, and reality TV; it's a painful, but unavoidable common experience.
Mark worked the day before we had to be out by 1PM. Got off at 4:00 PM, packed late, got up early and worked like animals.
Many many thanks to Esther's brother Ray. He has stayed with us for a few days, there and at Jackie's (she has been totally awesome too). He took the city bus with Esther to pick up the truck while I was at work. Then he worked like a teamster moving our crap. In the back of the truck, he packed the boxes like a championship Tetris player building a Lego castle. Then tried to follow in our car while Mark drove the truck like Mario Andretti. We didn't lose him once.
In the middle of our packing night, we completely ran out of boxes. Since we were hungry anyway, we hit up McDonald's. We raided their 'Cardboard only' dumpster, but the lid was too heavy and the sides too high. Mark had to stick his arm in the slot they shove the flat boxes in. Esther held the flashlight and played lookout. We kept hoping some dwelling disadvantaged (homeless) person wasn't going to grab his wrist and drag him in.
So, the next day we stumbled out of bed at 5:30 AM and worked like fiends. By 8:00, we had run out of garbage bags, coffee, energy, and even boxes. Esther and Ray went on quest for these things. Out of 5 places they only got about 3-4 boxes all together. Stupid recycling. Don't they know that 'reuse' is one of the 'R's of recycling?
While they were gone, Mark started cleaning like Taz's long lost brother. He had found a Monster Mocha Java energy drink in the back of the fridge he was cleaning out. They returned with Cowboy coffee('if ya'll can't float a horse shoe in it--it ain't a cowboy's. Just break off a chunk and chew!') Hopped up on caffeine and time kicking our asses, we went to work like a horde of Skandahoovian berserkers at a free smorg.
At ten to one, we were still vacuuming madly. The house owners, who had been quite put out with us, were impressed with how clean we had left it. So we left on a good note with best wishes and good riddance all around.
The day was not done with us. We had room in the truck for the big bulky furniture we were not taking. We nearly lost side mirrors down the narrow alley to the back of the New Life Mission thrift store to 'donate' the junk we didn't want. They had room for one chair and the table. So we hit up Value Village to take our 'treasure'.
Next we drove to Halston Mini Storage by the A&W on the reserve to empty our unit. Once again Ray played puzzle master with the wall of boxes. We were all getting 'move stoned'. That is being in a different head space, headachey, stumbling, beyond hunger, shaky, hearing a soft roaring in your head like a seashell symphony, and a thousand-yard stare. Finally we were done, but I didn't feel safe to drive. Like a beacon of greasy neon light, invaded the A&W, and crashed till we leveled out. We dragged ourselves to Jackie's place, melted into bed, and died to the world. The worst was over.
