Wednesday, December 3, 2008

And, we are moved...

I happened to glance at the kitchen island to find evidence of what I needed to survive this move. The picture is worth all that it means.

To say that I hate moving is probably not true. I mean, hate is such a strong word. To say, I hate when people do not do the right thing is quite accurate in my book. We have moved and every box is in the door, or in the garage. There are curtain rods strewn about, leaves and snow tracking footprints on the floor, and the sewing room is filled to the brim with everything sewing and everything else that is struggling to find a new home.

John and I slept in the new house Friday night. When I arrived at the old house, the movers were pulling in and our friends Kenneth, Jon and his son, Henry, were standing in the front yard. Thank you, guys. You have made my heart sing with your gift of time and lifting muscle. We appreciate you so much. Henry, you rock!

The big part of the move was Saturday. By big move, I mean I hired Two Men and a Truck to show up and move those pieces that are too heavy and, coincidentally, would cause me the most heartache if broken: the piano, the hope chest, my grandmother’s china hutch, and the antique dresser. Let me just say that these two strong, young men were the best possible representatives for their company! They were spectacular in ever way. Nothing was broken and they were polite, hardworking, and good natured. One gentleman shared he had been through this same experience this past month and has been busy moving others in our like situations. This is sad.

Just after the piano was put into place it began to drizzle then rain. We worked the rest of the day, small load after small load. Tired, we were back at it Sunday morning. Did I mention we woke up to snow?


The move was wet, slick, slushy and cold, cold, cold, but with the help of my parents we managed to finish our move around dinner time on Sunday. The old house is clean ready for the bank to sell. Cleaning the white unsealed kitchen floor one last time ruffled my feathers a bit, but it is over.

I still feel a bit displaced in this new house. Thirteen days ago we were just puttering along through busy schedules, grading, writing finals, driving to cheer practice and living like we always do. Everything happened so fast. Now, I wonder if I can settle in and trust that this will not happen again. This will be hard.

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