We are out – well, almost – of our old house and moving like brushfire into the new. No matter how organized you are, there comes a tipping point in moving where everything gets ahead of any well-thought plan. That point is when the movers arrive at the new place and are eager to unload their truck. (Unloading takes about half the time as loading.)
I stood in the entry and barked directions. “Couch there. Green chair in the master bedroom, far corner. All boxes in the garage.”
I have been living among boxes in the old place for four weeks, so Earl and I decided we would have all packed boxes put in the garage and bring them into the house one or two at a time in the hope of feeling as if we were more settled than we actually are. I’m not sure it’s going to work, but it made life easier for both the movers and me in the moment.
Then there was my piano. Four men brought it into what will be called the Music Room. They had dismantled it, while I disappeared, at the old house. And, since they came highly recommended as virtuoso piano movers, I assumed they could reassemble it at the new house without having a screw or pin left over. Once again I disappeared until I was summoned to give my approval on the final placement.
Then the men left, and I changed clothes to attend the Executive Professional Women’s Association meeting. At first I wondered what had possessed me to agree to attend, but actually it was wonderful to discuss something other than moving plans.
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