The next time I get the bright idea to move cross-country, someone smack me, will you?
Don’t get me wrong. I am thrilled about the new house, and the residents of our new hometown are generous with information and assistance. Yesterday I mentioned in passing that I liked working in the garden in the cooler weather, but my hands were cold. Soon after, I was whisked off to the local nursery and introduced to proper gloves for keeping my hands warm and dry. A neighbor came by with introductions and homemade cookies. I’ve even joined the board of a local arts organization!
We just can’t quite seem to finalize the move. We decided to ship the car, which is a great idea in theory. Trouble is, more than a week later, the durn thing is still in Houston, waiting for enough cards to fill the load. Our delivery date keeps getting pushed out. First, the 26th, then the 30th, now the 31st. Hubby called to yell at them and reported that “They seem to be used to people calling and yelling at them.” If the delivery gets any later, it will start to disrupt other plans — between a family visit, Passover, and other travel, our schedule is starting to feel like a house of cards.
Hubby, trooper that he is, is back in Houston supervising the move. Packers arrived yesterday, a luxury for which I am deeply grateful. I’ve done a lot of packing over the years, and this is the first time in my life that someone else is doing it. All went smoothly, but then I got a phone call: “Good thing I have low blood pressure,” he said.
This is not the way I like our conversations to begin.
The moving company blithely informed us that there wouldn’t be a van in town to take our stuff today. Instead, they are loading it on a local truck and taking it to storage temporarily. So far, they have insisted that this will only cause a one-day delay in the delivery of our stuff. We’ll see.
I haven’t even gone into the constant changes to our plans that has caused us to blow the fare on two plane tickets, plus hubby’s return flight on another. Or written about my scary drive the other night with the rental car on unfamiliar roads in the rain. Or life in a house with minimal furniture and supplies…have I mentioned how much I miss my microwave? So far I’ve managed to scorch all the leftovers I’ve heated up because I’m still figuring out the electric stove.
Routines have changed. I don’t know the names of the trees and plants in my yard (though the kind woman who helped me with gloves rattled off a few names for me to get me started). We’ve said goodbye to restaurants we loved, where people knew us, and are getting acquainted with new ones. We said so long to good friends, though I hope they will come visit! When I fall asleep at night, I hear unfamiliar noises — the other night it was a roaring wind that reminded me, not so pleasantly, of Hurricane Ike. Truth is, change, even happy change that we choose and embrace, requires adjustment, and it feels stressful at times.
Look, I know that in the scheme of things, I don’t have problems. I get to live where I choose. I have to keep a camera nearby at all times because of the many photo ops that present themselves during the day. I get to do the work I love, even though I have yet to make a profit as a writer. I have a hubby I can trust with many things, packing being one of them. My life is incredible. In the wise words of Alcoholics Anonymous, as well as my late father-in-law, “This too shall pass.”
Just promise me, if I announce at some point that I want to move again, that you’ll whup me up the side of my head. And if I didn’t need another reminder, here’s a photo from sunrise a couple of days ago: