The only part of my house that is organized.
NyQuil, Napping & Power Tools: How Not To Move Like A Pro
I write a blog that often talks
about home organization.
So how is it I am the kind of
person who has called 1-800-GOT-JUNK twice
in the last few years? This means I have paid money twice for the junk I have – once to buy it and again to have it
taken away.
How is it I am also now on a
first name basis with the guy who collects donations at Goodwill? A guy who
knows my name, when I’m moving, where I’m moving and has opinions about all of it.
Well, except for my name. The
only person I’ve ever met who had an opinion about my name was a student several
years ago. He was from the United Arab Emirates, and he simply could not bring
himself to call me “Susan” as this was apparently also the name of his family’s
favorite camel.
Huh. Who knew? As Murphy is to
American dogs, Susan is to Arabic camels. The Goodwill guy didn’t share this
kind of information with me. But it’s about the only thing he hasn’t shared.
Because I see him several times a day. Every time I drop off yet another load
of stuff.
Moving day is Friday.
I think of myself as an
organized, take charge, plan-out-the-strategy kind of girl. This move is
proving otherwise.
This became apparent when the
1-800-GOT-JUNK man stood in our basement, scratching his head over the pool
table.
We inherited the rickety pool table
from the previous owner. Because apparently it’s too big to fit out any of the
doors. This would have been good to know before we called GOT JUNK to take it
away.
But I didn’t know this and,
worse, had just taken a massive dose of NyQuil to clear up my cold-addled head.
NyQuil doesn’t exactly help with
critical thinking, which my next actions proved.
I sent the junk man away and immediately
took a nap.
I now have a well-rested,
cold-addled head, an enormous pool table stuck in the basement and a clock that’s
ticking on the move.
Luckily, I also have the number
of the best handyman in all of metro Denver. His name is Henry. Henry is 50. He
has more tattoos than you can count and a truck with wheels taller than my 7
year old. Henry also makes house calls on short notice and owns every power
tool known to man.
On home fixing matters, I try
to not sweat it until Henry tells me I should. So we’ve got Henry coming over
to deal with the pool table. And I’m pretty sure he can make it right. At least
right-er than I could, armed with NyQuil and a power saw.
Henry is going on my thankful
list this week. So are my mom friends who’ve volunteered to drive the Dynamic Duo
places and sent encouraging texts. So is my mom herself who left a roasted
chicken dinner warming in our oven last night, pretty much the only reason any of
us got fed.
And my dad whose driven to more
soccer games and birthday parties than you can count. And our honorary aunt and
uncle who are young and hip and foolish enough to have volunteered to take the
Dynamic Duo to a corn maze this weekend. Clearly, they have never experienced
the autumnal joy of getting lost in a corn maze with sneezing children. But
they will. While I experience the joy of unpacking… in a house… with a basement
that doesn’t have a pool table stuck in it.
Thanks for the well wishes on the move, guru girls & guys! Hopefully I won't be radio-silent on the blog front -- but it might depend on Wi-Fi connections, about the only home item Henry can't help us with. (If you live in the metro area and want Henry's phone number, let me know. I will give it to you in exchange for opening only a few boxes.)
