Bellbottom Blog

Scratching A Writing Itch From Time To Time

Making More Of An Effort

In the last post, I talked about promoting this space a little more aggressively.

To do that though, it means I have to write another post, even though I just wrote one Friday.

There is a wonderful author named Rachel Thompson who has written three books, two of which I have read and the third I eagerly anticipate reading.  She goes by RachelInTheOC on Twitter.

She has started a hashtag called #MondayBlogs .  If I tweet about today’s effort using that hashtag……well, I don’t know what happens.  I guess we will find out together.

On to today’s post….

sj who goes by popqueenie on Twitter is stuck in #MovingHell (her hashtag, not mine) and it reminded me of some painful moving memories of my own.

To start with when I was single, there must have been a sign on my forehead which said, “He isn’t married. He must have free time.”

I helped a lot of people move in my twenties.

My most hated piece of furniture became the sleeper sofa.  You know, the sofa that folds out into a bed.  Two pieces of furniture in one.  They weigh a metric ton.  You need more than two people to move one and the best part is the move almost always involves a staircase. Preferably one with a turn in it.  The person who owns it is always confident it will fit through the space they desire it to go through.  Logic eludes this person when you point out that after carefully taken measurements it will NEVER go through.  NEVER.

So, you have to take it up the stairs, wedge it into the turn, showing the person that you were right and while you wait for the forthcoming apology, you hear instead, ” Oh, ok.  Just bring it back to the living room”.

When a few guys , lured in by promises of pizza and beer, are doing the moving, it is the most “guy” thing ever.  Sizing up the available space in the truck. Arguing over just how to fill said truck.  Finding just the right sized piece to fill an empty space.  Sort of a reverse Jenga.  The loading is so important because you want the unloading to go fast because …I did mention the pizza and beer, right?  Only a rookie would ever let the amateur moving crew touch a beer before everything is safely placed at the new residence.

Sometimes, as when I helped my parents move several years ago, it is necessary to ask at least one of the owners to go ahead to the new address (Sorry, Mom. You were holding up the show.)

I have a fond memory of helping a friend move during a snowstorm.  He was moving from an upstairs apartment to the converted garage on the same property.  It was a pain until we got to the refrigerator.  The fridge was an old Norge. You have seen them.  They have a rounded off top and sides. When we finally wrestled it downstairs and got it to the front yard.  We had it on its side, looked at each other, smiled and shoved the thing across the yard like two bobsled racers, yelling and laughing.

I strongly advocate the use of gloves when you are a mover.  The second you think it will be alright to take one off, blood will be spilled. And the bandages will have already been packed.

I am proud that in the dozen or so moves I took part in, nothing was broken.

Now by contrast, we have had two different moving companies move our stuff.  Each time things were broken.

It’s funny how when you are going through the process of moving, you forget about the reasons why you are moving.  The reality of it is so overwhelming.  But eventually everything gets to the new place.  Then you have the dilemma of what to do with all the empty boxes and all the packing material.  And THEN….you are home.  The bad memories and scars fade.  As with most things, the funny stories survive.

Well, it is time to go babysit my grandson.

Thanks for reading.

And as always,

Peace.

 

 

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8 thoughts on “Making More Of An Effort

  1. I believe that the many times I have moved have substracted at least a decade off my life span. I love moving stories. And I love stories about moving.

    • I agree. I think I have lifted my limit of heavy things and now it is for others to do. And I thought watching people pack my stuff would be less stressful….I was so wrong.

  2. We used to move at least every two years. When my mom would get a better job or a raise, we would pack up our apartment and move to a nicer one in a better neighborhood. I hated moving but liked it at the same time. There were so many new beginnings.

  3. I’ve decided I’m living in my current place until it gets bulldozed down or falls down around me (either one is likely…it’s not the sturdiest place) because moving is the most stressful thing ever, in the history of ever. Urgh. I hate it. I counted once and I’ve moved probably 10 times or something in my life. No more. Done. I’m nesting now. I’m too old for this anymore.

  4. I’ve moved quite enough to last me a lifetime, and I know for a fact that there are at least two moves ahead of me. *sigh* Well, luckily I’m pretty good at suppressing things I don’t want to think about.

    • I think there might be one more move for us. If not, that would be fine. It is really packing all the books that is the biggest pain. Heavy boxes and bookcases that are scattered all over the house are a bad combination.

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