I’ve moved many times and have many moving stories but this move, this move better be the last. Or the last for awhile. Like at least 10 years. Things are coming together in the new place. We bought a new couch for our living room and I’m sitting here with a cat on my lap, which wouldn’t have happened in the old place, piles of boxes are slowly getting smaller and things don’t seem as tragic as they did a few days ago but none of this changes the fact that this was the worst moving experience I’ve had so far.
First of all, what’s with the global warming giving way to real Canadian winter last Monday on move-out day? I did seem to be the one of the few people that was worried about the warm weather but Mother Nature, that’s no way to treat me on move-out day, sending freezing rain and ice pellets. Everything made it out into the truck, even the piano, and nobody fell down or got injured in but things moved more slowly than they would have if it wasn’t so icy. To say the least.
The truck. We were immediately three hours behind schedule on Monday because the geniuses who dropped it off at the rental place didn’t return the keys with it. My dad and Kevin had to stand around waiting until the guy at the store (who, in fact, was about an hour late himself due to the weather) could reach them and they got around to showing up with the keys.
Around 3:00, my dad had to drive my mom home so that she could get the girls off the bus. On the way back some guy inexplicably pulled out in front of him and because of the road conditions my dad wasn’t able to stop. Crunch! My dad was okay but there was some damage to the front end of his car. Argh.
It was about this time that the new owners of the Morton house showed up to see how much longer we were going to be. We were not required to be out until 6:00, which was fortunate given the unexpected delays and weather. Luckily, somebody else dealt with this because I assure you, I would not have handled it with much grace.
Just when I was beginning to think there was no way in hell we were going to be finished in time, my cousin Vern showed up and hauled major fucking ass. He saved the day, no doubt about it.
Tuesday, move-in day, was entirely uneventful. Except for the part where a Special Constable showed up to serve the previous owner with a summons (!), it all went ridiculously smoothly – until the power steering blew on our car that is. But by then all the moving was over, which made it ever so slightly easier to deal with. I was really emotional leaving our first house, but this new place is doing its best to eradicate any lingering sadness. We’re all very happy.
Thanks to the Sinclairs, the Gibsons (especially Vern), the Kirshners and the Bowmans for all your help. xoL.