An exercise in endurance
Everything about moving is dreadful, an exercise in endurance. The packing and the lifting, the sorting and the tossing out, the donating and the keeping – all of it is exhausting and irritating.
But want to know what the worst part of moving might be? The questions. I didn’t count the questions, but by the end of that 14-hour day, I’d answered a couple hundred of them.
“Where would you like this?”
“Which bedroom?”
“In the corner?”
“Against the far wall or the close wall?”
Each question was posed by a strong young man holding something heavy; in some cases two strong young men were holding a sofa or mattress. I felt the need to shout back an answer quickly, even without thinking about it, because they were standing there with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Had I taken some time up front to consider the layout of my new place, I would have saved the guys some sweat.
Back at the old house, the crew had encased my piano in so much bubble wrap it was the size of a small car. They pushed it across the deck and into the yard, where the four of them did a kind of rolling floor, picking up and moving plywood as they pushed the piano along. Then up the van ramp it went with much shouting and grunting. I couldn’t watch.
Here in the condo, they rolled it into the living area and asked where I wanted it. I directed them to the interior wall.
Wrong answer.
“I”m so sorry, guys,” I said. “Can you move it to the other wall?”
That they did so without grumbling is why I would hire this some company again, not that I’m ever moving from here.
By 6:30 that night, my life was in the new condo. All that was left were a few boxes.
“Where would you like this, Miss Beth?” said James. By then we were on a first-name basis. I looked at the box. Was it kitchen utensils? Shoes? Books? Electronics? I thought about asking James to shake the box so I could hear its contents, but he was tired, too.
“No clue,” I said. I had not one answer left in me. I said to put it on the floor right where he was standing.
I went back to the old place one last time, cleaned it up a bit, put my bike on the car and drove away from that life for the last time. At home, I put the bike in the garage and went to the bedroom to “lie down for two minutes to rest my head” before getting a shower and brushing my teeth.
I woke up at 7:30 the next morning, fully clothed and wearing my baseball cap, glasses and shoes. I’d fallen asleep atop the covers, with all the lights on. I once rode my bike 100 miles in one day, and at the end of that day I wasn’t as tired as I was after this move.
As I wandered out to the kitchen I found that last box in the middle of the floor. I thought about opening it to see what was inside. Nah. Instead, I pushed it into a corner. It was heavy – probably books. But that can wait.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.