No, I haven’t fallen into the failing septic system out back or collapsed after the umpteenth trip carrying boxes from the old house to the new. We’ve spent the last two weeks in a different dimension.
We moved into the condo two weeks ago and were without internet or television for the first week, not that it mattered much. Most evenings we spent either unpacking or collapsed on the couch. It would have been nice to be able to zone out with those nice Property Brothers or Chip and Joanna Gaines on HGTV, but staring blankly at the wall worked almost as well. On the plus side, we’ve both lost weight.
Moving day was memorable – kind of like slamming your hand in the car door.
The night before the closing, we learned that the bank had made a wee mistake with the paperwork and so it would have to all be re-done. We woke up the next morning still not knowing if the closing would go through. (We later learned that due to a snafu in our lawyer’s IT department, they had no record of receiving the corrected documents on Thursday night.)
On Friday morning, our movers (who turned out to be the most patient movers in history), Melissa, Ben, and Dave arrived promptly at 8:45.
We still had no idea if the closing would happen that day.
The next available truck from the moving company was two weeks away.
Melissa: “Do you want us to start loading?”
Us: “Uh. . . .If we don’t close today, could you store our stuff?”
Melissa: “Sure! But it’ll cost you double.” Checking her link to HQ : “And we won’t be able to take it out of storage until mid-August.”
I could feel the top of my head silently lifting off. We told them to keep loading.
They loaded while I sat and hyperventilated.
At 10:45 our house was essentially empty and we’d be sleeping on the floor.
At last word came that the closing was on. We drove to our lawyer’s office where we signed so many papers that by the end of it I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that I’d deeded my left kidney to charity or that there was a codicil for local winemakers to set up shop in our new basement.
Papers signed, back to the house, still no key.
The key would only be available once the transaction hit the county registry of deeds’ website.
Melissa and company finished and were ready for lunch.
Melissa, steely-eyed: “We’ll meet you at the condo at 1:00. You’ll have the key, right?”
Me, smiling falsely and staring evasively over her left shoulder: “Uh, yeah! Sure! Meet you then!”
My Guy and I jetted over to the realtor’s office to wait for word that the eagle had landed. At 12:45 we still had no key, but someone had to be at the new place when the moving truck arrived.
I pulled up to the condo – no truck yet. Good, although since the day had progressed to a humid 92 degrees, waiting wasn’t going to be all that pleasant.
2 minutes later the red behemoth appeared. What to do?
I walked Melissa around back to show her the porch where they could put the grill.
I walked her to the front entry where they could place two outdoor chairs.
Just as I was imagining the team’s enthusiasm for sitting together sweatily in a hot cab for another hour, my phone rang.
My Guy looked better than the cavalry from those old black and white westerns when he pulled up, key in hand.