What a Moving Weekend
Yes, it was a very moving weekend. Literally. Moved from my little casita into two bedrooms in my dear friend Lyn’s house. I hate moving. Is there anyone who enjoys it? If so, they have to be a masochist. I think I would rather receive paper cuts in all the webbing between my toes and fingers than I would pack and move. Did that make you cringe as that paper cut visual came to your mind? I did.
First of all, I took the day off on Friday so I could go lay carpet in these two rooms. One room had been used for boarding dogs from time to time and, well, it needed new carpet. The other room had been a storage room and the cats had created all kinds of tunnels in and around the boxes and junk. It definitely needed new carpet as well as the old carpet was that avocado shag from the 1970’s. Or was it the 1960’s? Whenever.
That was my first – and ONLY – experience with laying carpet. Never again.
Carpet laid, Michelle limps home. Somehow, I managed to get enough energy after napping to pack some boxes.
Plan of attack for Saturday… drive the dogs to Lyn’s, deposit dogs, remove wire crates from van so the dogs wouldn’t be in our way, plus I would then have full use of my van. Around noonish, everyone was scheduled to start to arrive to help me move.
When I was loading some boxes in my van for my early first trip with the dogs, my “lethal white” Aussie boy, named Dork, just knew something was going on. He always does. He is completely deaf and blind in one eye, and trained with touch commands and hand signals. I rescued him and his mother when he was around three or four months old. So he has really learned to read my body movement, facial expressions, emotions, anything and everything about me. He is an amazing special guy. When I am loading the van, he is so excited he can barely contain himself. Dork knows he is absolutely NOT to cross the front door threshold unless he is on leash. He couldn’t help himself a few times and followed me out, tail wagging and eyes bright. I’d turn around sharply and give him that “look.” He knows that “look.” He’d stop suddenly, kinda pull his head back and tilt it to the side, and say in a droopy-dog cartoon voice, “Oh, okay. Haha, I go back now. Sorry.” Then turn and skeedaddle right back to the “do not cross line,” turn around and watch. The front door threshold is one I taught him very early and with zero tolerance… if he were to go out the front door without me and not on leash and with no secure fencing in the front yard, then trot out on the street, he would not hear nor see an oncoming car. In the bright daylight, his one eye does not dilate properly, so he is very nearly completely blind. So, no tolerance with going out the front door there, my boy. But it was so cute seeing him act like he got caught with his paw in the biscuit jar.
I had a nice treat when pulling out of the driveway. I lived just minutes from the Balloon Fiesta Park where the city has their annual International Balloon Fiesta in October. As I am leaving I look up and the balloonists were giving me a fond farewell. There were dozens flying. It is normal to see maybe a handful on the weekends, but not as many as there were on Saturday. Possibly a lot of Valentine’s Day treats from one lover to another.
Off we go, dogs delivered.
It was one of those drives that make you scratch your head and wonder how the hell other people manage to drive one block without wrecking. I am coming down the two-line road near Lyn’s and this idgit in front of me swerves to the far right side of our lane, tires on the white line, and stops. Just stops. No turn signal left. No turn signal right. Just decides to take a break I guess. Foot cramp? Brain cramp? I’m the kind of person who has very little patience towards stupid drivers and normally I would pass in a heart beat, but the swerve right was rather confusing. Normally, stopping like that indicates a left turn, but the right swerve made me wonder if they were going to turn right. So, I wait. Idiot driver finally turns left. I grumble and call her names as I pass. Yes, female driver. Can’t stand most of them.
On the interstate, I come up behind a passenger bus out of Mexico. Albuquerque is a very common stop. Well, this bus is all over the highway. Too much tequila or something. I watch him and pick up quickly on his “swerve-timing”, just like Sean Connery in Alcatraz when rolling under the boiler flames. During the bus driver’s long lackadaisical re-direct from the right swerve into the left swerve, I floor it and haul ass in my Dodge Caravan dog-mobile. Thank goodness for V-6’s now in mini-vans. Have you ever driven one with a 4-cylinder back when that was the standard engine size? Hell, I always felt the need to do a Fred Flintstone and stick my feet out the bottom and start running.
The packing and move went actually very well. Everyone showed up. Everyone did their part – which I knew they would because they wouldn’t leave me until it was done, and I’m sure they wanted to get the hell out of there. I truly have some wonderful friends.
Caravan to Lyn’s. By now, though, Henry is tired and becoming cranky. He passes me and the truck with the trailer full my stuff out of impatience and thinking he knows the way – which he had never been to Lyn’s coming in from this directly. Naturally, he misses the turn and pretty much drives all the way to Isleta Pueblo before he realizes he’s gone to far. I wait at the corner in my van laughing a bit to myself because I know him all too well. He finally comes back, sees my van, and humbly turns and follows the rest of the way. Mmm-hmmmm… shoulda been more patient.
Unloading went well, except for one minor detail… I will NEVER let Lyn attempt to move my furniture ever again. Very smart woman, but discovered that moving is NOT her forte in life. I have this mission style oak office desk from the 1930’s. Small. It’s not my computer desk, but I love the look and style and use it more for decoration. Lyn loads the desk on the dolly on its front side with the drawers facing down. Drawers are full, mind you, with “stuff.” She actually made it through the house fine, then when trying to do the maneuvering of the legs through the doorway, it slides over just enough for “WHAM” “CRASH”… the top drawers dropped down and the contents went all over the place. Henry came to the rescue and he and I pulled it together and got the desk in.
Then a little later, Lyn came back carrying my tall skinny drawer-thingy. Not big. About 8 inches deep and wide, and 3.5 feet high. Has six drawers in it for crap that really has no where else to go. The “catch-all” type setup. Well, Lyn brings it in upside-down, with stuff in the drawers…again. I hear crap flying all over inside, drawers slide open, miscellaneous stuff I should probably just throw away falls all over. I take it from her and say, “Hey, it sounds like you’ve got some dogs fighting out back. Better go check.” She knew there were no dogs fighting, but got the hint and stuck with moving only stuff that did not have drawers in it.
Finally, furniture inside and all the guys left so fast there was smoke pouring out from under their tires.
Overall it was a very smooth move. But I have paid for it today. Spent most of the day in bed, could barely walk and in quite a bit of pain. But glad to be back where I feel at home and surrounded by the dogs I love so much and the company of my best friend, Lyn.
Oh, and Dork…. Ever hear the joke about how do you piss off Helen Keller? Move the furniture around. Now in our new rooms, he keeps running into the furniture and bounces off only to turn and look at me with a quizzical look like he’s thinking, “Where’d that come from?” Then continues on his merry ol’ way, which is usually under my feet under my computer desk.