“Let’s Move!” is the slogan for Michelle Obama’s cause to get kids living healthier. Adults, too, but mostly she focuses on the nation’s youth. Now, I realize that the first lady was talking about exercise and fitness, not moving households, but after the first few days of moving my worldly possessions to new abode, I can vouch that they are one and the same. I haven’t felt that sore in a long time. I hurt all over.
You’d think that with this much pain that I hadn’t had much help, but you’d be wrong. My son and a friend of his – both skinny yet strong, young men – moved dozens of heavy boxes, that is, my books. Son Jacob even came the next day to help load up my friend Debby’s car and unload them at the new house. I took the “light” stuff. Clothing and linens were no problem, nor were my daughter’s many stuffed animals, stored away some time ago though not forgotten. But hauling around a lot of the kitchen stuff can really take a toll on your back, at least on my pitiful one.
On the last day of my four-day moving event, Tuesday, the pros showed up. I had decided the last time that I moved to no longer burden friends and family (grown kids being the exception) with the onerous task of moving my stuff. Besides, they were getting older and achy, too, just like me. I asked around for some recommendations and settled on a local company that my colleague Kate had used. Also, their name was M&M Movers and any company that sounds like candy can’t be bad. Originally, they were to take the furniture (not much left of that) and some of the items too big for my car, like the lawn mower. But by Tuesday I was exhausted and for a mere $1 a box, they’d pack up the rest. Go for it, I said. I didn’t have very much furniture anymore; it took all of 45 minutes to load up the truck and head across town.
Everything was unloaded quickly and my new garage now held all the boxes my old one had kept for so many months since the fire restoration company had returned them. I hadn’t even bothered to unpack most of them. Unfortunately, I had to head back to my former house to clean up. The pantry and refrigerator were the worst chores. Despite trying to eat down my groceries the last few weeks, I still had quite a bit of supplies to pack up or throw out. The refrigerator was staying with the house and needed cleaning. You know how little bits of food or a few drops of some unknown liquid fall behind the drawers just where you can’t reach them? Every blessed drawer had to come out of the fridge. By 6 I was done and done in. Determined to make only one last trip, I jammed all the bags of food and cleaning items into the car trunk. The vacuum cleaner went on the back seat, and last, but certainly not least, packed in my two dogs.
Buddy and Rosie hopped in the car, sharing their usual space with the noisy contraption they dislike, the one that sucks up the leaves they bring in and the hair they shed. The dogs knew something was going on and were nervously quiet on the ride to our new home. Thinking ahead, I had already put out food, water, toys, and their doggie beds at the house. I hadn’t washed the cushions as I figured the familiar smells would comfort them in the unfamiliar house. A short time later, both dogs had explored the backyard, eaten some dinner, and settled down in their cushions. I collapsted onto the couch, dinner on a TV tray nearby, and turned on the DVD player. Exhausted but content. We were finally moved.