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September 29, 2008
Achy Breaky Heart
The only ones unpacked and settled in this house are Olga and Frieda. Photos soon.
I am finding it very hard to write out the past few days, mainly because the joints in my knuckles and hands are so swollen that I can hardly bend them. I will report that I am sitting in my home office with Olga and Frieda, peering out the window at the sunshine and our overgrown trees and contemplating how I should go about trimming them.
We mostly moved an Saturday. It was wonderful but incredibly traumatic. Yesterday, after the floor of the old apartment was vacuumed and the countertops wiped down, we stood in the center of the living room and peered out to the sunset and the Statue of Liberty. The room echoed. It looked just as it had when we had completed painting it three years ago, except now we were leaving. We both burst into tears. They weren’t bad tears, just natural expressions of loss and gain- the acknowledgement that Red Hook was an incredibly defining place for both of us, independently and together. Alexis realized that he had lived in our building longer than any other place in his life (seven years). It was a tough goodbye.
But to rewind a bit, the gist of our move was as follows:
- Wake insanely early on Saturday, put Irving and Olive in crates and dump them in a room in the new house. Drive back to the apartment.
- Movers arrive. The truck is too small for all of our stuff. We are told that they will have to make two trips at cost to us.
- Movers curse us for having about 50 boxes full of books that they must schlep down four flights of stairs. They proceed to take a smoke break every twenty minutes.
- Alexis and I begin to carry boxes down ourselves in order to save time for that second truck trip. I don’t think I have ever carried that many boxes around in my entire life. We both are covered in bruises.
- Movers fit enough crap into the van and we agree to leave a number of items behind and get them later with our car, totally underestimating the amount of crap left to ferry.
- Movers arrive at house. We can’t figure out how to open our basement storm door. Finally, after fiddling in the dark, I get it and realize that the release is broken. We get the door open, however now it’s another item on our list of things to spend money on.
- To compress time: we then retrieve Olga and Frieda, dump them in the house, and then make about eight trips back and forth from the apartment to house over the next day and a half.
Conclusion: Seriously, every joint in my body is swollen. Beer tastes so much better after an exhausting day such as those we’ve just barreled through. The cats are slowly adjusting, though each set is sequestered in their own room for now and are not allowed out. We’re kind of unpacked. I am now going to try m hand at some gardening, then curl up in a ball and take a nap. I wish I had taken this entire week off from work. Oh well.
Posted by callalillie at September 29, 2008 12:05 PM | Home
But you know what, you're Home with a capital H! Yeah! Have fun settling in even while achy. Good luck with the kitties.
Posted by: Colleen in MA at September 29, 2008 8:24 PM
I moved two times last year, also love books to an insane degree, and also dealt with movers. The point is this: I feel your pain and right now in remembering the moving process I am reminded too well of the fatigue and ache associated with moving. Take a hot bath, drink a cup of tea, and take some time to just enjoy the space. You have your whole lives to work on the new home. ;)
Posted by: Gina at September 29, 2008 11:44 PM
Not that you're moving again any time soon, but take my advice oh people moving in Brooklyn: Movers, Not Shakers.
Posted by: Janine at September 30, 2008 8:30 PM
