I began the morning by destroying the lever that switches the water from the faucet to the shower head. Now I start my morning shower by sticking my index finger up the spout to force the lever up. I have to get this fixed before I lose a finger or otherwise die of a poisonous spider bite from the black widow that is surely lurking inside. Or suffer the consequences of an overactive imagination.
My speciality is crunch-time packing. With the right supplies, I can do all of that horrible last-minute packing on moving day while everyone else furiously works to remove boxes and furniture to the truck. I thought this would be my job when I arrived at my parent’s place, but they had run out of boxes the night before so I found myself without much to do. After accomplishing a few tasks I could see needed attention, like disassembling the stereo components, I ended up just sort of standing around like a moron wondering what to do. I looked out the window of my old bedroom for one of the last times, at the maple tree that’s already turning the particular orangey-yellow shade I have always thought is so pretty. I wanted to feel some sort of sadness or strangeness about my parents moving away from the place they’ve lived in since we moved to Toronto the summer of the year I went into grade ten, but I couldn’t. I guess there has been so much change this year, it seems right, that this changes too.
Meanwhile, Angela, who will marry into this crazy family in the next year or so, buzzed around commanding men into action and trucking gargantuan pieces of furniture down three flights of stairs as if she herself was a man. At one point, she informed my cousin (on the opposite side of the family) that he fell into the same category as her fiance. That is, the "Piece of Shit" category. I reflected that, although I would never conceive of telling someone I had just met that they fell into that category, my life would many times over be much easier if I did, once in awhile. Angela is my new hero.
Finally, the truck was packed and two half-ton trucks belonging to my cousins, and the mini-van of my aunt. We soldiered on to my parent’s new digs. We endured a solid half-hour of waiting around wherein I became convinced my dad would certainly take a heart attack because nobody was there to give him the keys to the new apartment. Luckily, the superintendent’s son showed up with the goods before any hospitalization was necessary and we unpacked all the trucks in a speedy fashion, as we are quite the shit-kicking family – once we’re organized.
I think this family has had enough moving for one year. I think we were all feeling that late in the day yesterday but sometimes an environment has a way of revealing itself to you. I felt, as I did when I found myself in my new apartment, that once everything is sorted, as long as that can take, that there will be happiness there.