Moving Part 1: It Only Gets Better from Here

The move has taken place, and I finally have a little time to post the notes I made from the first few days. First, allow me to set the scene…

The loading dock.

On the day before the move We built a loading dock and ramp over the rickety stairs for the move. That’s a royal "We," because my boyfriend, Salt, planned and built the entire thing. I helped by putting clamps in place, handing him tools, pruning an overhanging tree, and picking up scraps. I carried a 2x6 once. It was pretty heavy, but I thought the bigger trick was not smacking anything with it.

By move in day, we were ready, except for a few things. We didn’t have potable or hot water and it would be five days before the plumber would come to finish all of the connections with the hot water heater, washer, and water conditioner. We also moved in three days ahead of our furniture, which includes our bed and our refrigerator. We knew we would be roughing it for a few days. Coolers could take care of the few refrigerated things we needed, and we had fortuitously invested last winter in a very nice self-monitoring air bed. I read that people had used these for weeks and some people preferred them to regular beds; it should work great for us for three nights… right?

Day 1

2:30 a.m.
I cannot sleep for excitement. I haven’t slept well for weeks. There is so much to do.

3:30 a.m.
May as well get up.

4:30 – 8:30 a.m. 
Feeding the pets, various packing, laundry, loading the car...

8:30 a.m.
My parents arrive with breakfast sandwiches and help pack boxes and fold laundry. Good to see them.

10:00 a.m.
On the road at last with Griffin in the navigator’s seat. The sun is bright. Tired, but in a great mood.

11:00 a.m.
Arrive at the new house. Calicocoa barks at everyone and growls at my father.

11:30 a.m.
Our friends arrive and tour the house. More growling and barking.

1:00 p.m.
Back to the old house. Quick stop at the vet to get pain medication for Calicocoa. Maybe that will quiet her.

2:30 p.m.
There are four people packing in my closet: much banging around, loud chattering, sounds fun. Wish there were more time to join in. Keep loading.

3:00 p.m.
Drop Richard Parker in her cat crate, and head off to the new house.  The miserable wailing of the tortured begins immediately. Three blocks away Richard Parker urinates. Two miles away she begins trying to force her head through the wire mesh, scrapes her face badly, but only gets her nose out. Five miles away she begins panting and long ribbons of drool hang from her mouth. She defecates. She sprays. She claws at the cage. She drools more. She yowls desperately and then hopelessly the entire time. No conciliatory talk helps her calm down.  She has to endure forty minutes of this hell. My heart is breaking.

3:40 p.m.
A bewildered Richard Parker is now locked in a bathroom while the cars are unloaded. Perhaps a  little happier than being in the car.

Moving a la Beverlyhillbillies.

4:00 p.m.             
Our neighbor stops by to help with the unloading. Calicocoa barks and growls, but gives up quickly. No one seems interested in harming her or her pack.

4:30 p.m.

Richard Parker is exploring the house for the first time and seems to approve of the finished basement in particular. All humans are sitting on the loading dock talking. It reached 73 degrees today and it’s still pleasant outside. Everyone is tired and wants to go home. We thank our family and friends.

5:30 p.m.

Sitting on the deck with the fire in the portable pit, sipping wine, while our steaks cook.  Dinner is simple: ribeyes with caprese salad.

8:30 p.m. 
Bed inflated and made up. Time for bed.

Day 2

1:00 a.m.
Sorry. Somehow we both rolled to the middle. Spread out, even the air pressure.

2:00 a.m.
I cannot get comfortable. Is the mattress broken? Did I set it up wrong? I think we’re sinking.

2:30 a.m.
We’re definitely sinking.

3:00 a.m.
We need to reinflate this thing, but everyone else is asleep.

3:30 a.m.
I need to go the restroom. I’m flailing. I’m sinking. I’m swimming through nothing, trying to reach the edge of the bed, but waves of air mattress rise up and block my way with every move I make. I’m floundering. Roll. Roll. Roll with all my might against the wave. Roll. Roll. Roll to the edge of the bed. Roll to the floor exhausted. That’s it, everybody out of bed!

3:45 a.m.
Bed reinflated. This time the auto-fill feature is turned on. Apparently that second step is crucial. Back to sleep.

4:30 a.m.
What was that? Where is Calicocoa going? On no, there’s only  one reason she’d move at that speed at this hour. She needs to relieve herself. Leap from bed. It’s cold. Grab a dressing gown. Grab my paisley Nomad rubber yard boots. Grab Griffin’s leash. All dogs out of the house.

It’s sleeting. I hear a turkey in the distance.

Thank you, Lord, that it’s dark outside. I’m in the yard wearing my dressing gown over my pajamas. As a rule, I don’t wear my dressing gown or my pajamas outside of the house.

This is tragic. I’m standing in the sleet in my pajamas with turkeys laughing at me. I vow: never again.

That turkey is still laughing.

5:00 – 9:00 a.m. 
Unpacking. See a line of five deer running down our road toward the ponderosas.

9:00 a.m. – 3:00 p.m.      
Go back to the old house. Shower. Spend the day packing and loading remaining personal effects. It’s snowing lightly at the old house. Nothing is sticking.

3:00 p.m. 
Going home. Snow is picking up as we head east. The windshield is icing. The wipers aren’t helping much. Visibility is poor.

At home there is a 35 mile per hour wind blowing. It is snowing hard. We unload the truck, leave the car. Again this is a royal “We”; I helped a little.

4:30 p.m. 
It’s freezing. We go out to dinner.

5:30 p.m.
Back at home, we decide to light a fire in the fireplace despite not having a proper screen. Richard Parker loves the fire and parades around in front of the fireplace. The wind is wild. The snow is blowing into drifts.

7:00 p.m.
Exhausted, we decide to put out the fire. The logs go out into the snow. We smoke up the house. Salt is very upset about this. It’s not that bad.

8:00 p.m.
Can’t sleep comfortably on my side on the air mattress. My dust allergy has given me a headache. Fall asleep.

Day 3    

3:30 a.m.
Where’s Calicocoa going? Oh, no! Not again. Wait, Calicocoa, it snowed! Grab a dressing gown. Grab my paisley Nomad rubber yard boots. Grab my coat. Gloves? In my pocket…ewww, filthy cotton moving gloves. Oh well. Everyone out the door now! Hat!? Ah, a cute black beret will finish this ensemble.

And so, I’m standing in the yard wearing pajamas for the second day in a row, but just to make it worse I’m not coordinated. The burgundy barn coat doesn’t match my pale blue dressing gown in color or style. The filthy moving gloves don’t go with anything, especially not the beret. Well, actually, the beret really is a nice touch.

4:00 a.m.
It’s freezing in the house. I’m still wearing the barn coat over my dressing gown as I make coffee. I have new found respect for my grandmother, whom I saw in a barn coat and dressing gown many times.

Salt is getting ready for work where he can take a shower. I’m  strategizing how to use the snow to keep the food in the coolers refrigerated until tomorrow.

5:00 a.m.
Beta bath. Oh, it’s too cold for this.

5:15 a.m.
Dressed. Taking the trash out. Shoveling the deck. It needs to be clear and dry for the movers coming tomorrow. The snow is a few inches deep on the east side, and two feet deep on the south side. I actually like shoveling snow.

6:30 a.m.
The sun is coming up. If I open the front door and let the sun shine through the storm door, it heats the living room pretty well. Boiling water for the dishes helps heat the room too. I’m afraid to turn up the heaters. Everyone says baseboard heat is expensive.

This is where my notes end, but I should point out that on the subject of heating, this internal dialog is unusual for me. I hate to be cold, because I am always cold, even in the summertime. I have never hesitated to turn up a thermostat. For some reason my fear of the electric bill has outweighed my annoyance at being cold.

The good news is that my furniture is coming. The plumber is coming. Summer is coming. It can only get better from here.