Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Post-move Relief

Did you hear the wind blowing through Kansas City on Monday morning? That was actually my sigh of relief. The moving is done. (We laughed. We cried. It was better than Cats.) Actually, it was as bad as moving always seems to be, regardless of the preparation.

Moving is like a false-flat, for any cyclists that read this. You do the heavy lifting, drive, unload, return the truck, drink a beer and breathe a sigh of relief. Then you look around the new digs and realize all the unpacking and furniture placement that must takes place and the relief dissipates.

So let's just chalk it up to a long couple weeks. Moving always makes me nostalgic about the place I'm leaving. I love my house. (As a rental, it's still technically mine.) It was the only real estate I ever owned by myself. It was a little shoebox refuge where I honed my house upkeep capabilities - oftentimes with help - and learned to be okay with being alone.

As my mood turned mopey about leaving Ash Drive, Boyfriend tried to give me a pep talk, which was all good and fine until he compared my house to the giving tree. (It gave me shelter for three years. Now it will hopefully give me income as a rental property. Maybe someday it will be mortgage-free and provide retirement funds.) Except I thought "rental tree" was more appropriate, since there is monetary incentive.

To be clear, I do like my new-to-me house. It's at a great location with lovely neighbors and a darn cute house. There's also a neighbor dog that stops by for snacks, which makes me happy. Best of all, I don't have to schlep stuff back and forth between two locations (workout stuff, work clothes, lunch box) which makes things so much easier. Two home bases are hard to maintain.

We are both anxious to be back in our routines, which for me will be regular training and for him will be mountain biking. The wedding is quickly approaching -- less than two months -- and now that moving is done I can actually try to make some of the decisions I've been avoiding. (Dress, cake, vows, etc.) The relaxation of summer has still not been realized, but I'm holding out hope.

Friday, June 3, 2011

The purge and merge

Here's how the impending move is going. Boyfriend is purging. I am merging. You can see the rub.

I have stuff. Boyfriend has stuff. We have to stuff the stuff under one roof. We are no longer young-ens that move lightly. Our middle age accumulation is evident in the number of moving boxes at my house and the items that must be removed from his house. It's tons of fun.

Remember the wagon wheel coffee table scene from "When Harry Met Sally"? Those conversations are simmering on the horizon. (To be fair, his coffee table is actually fine and will go in our newly rented storage unit.)

Fortunately, Boyfriend realizes he has to make concessions. Many of them will be made this weekend while he's out of town. (Less painful.) It could have been worse. I had a dumpster scheduled to be dropped off in his driveway, but canceled after realizing my inability to lift by myself many of the items that need to go. Lucky man.

So maybe the picture is confusing, but it should be documented I'm purging some things. Like the 35 year old mattress on my guest bed. You read that right - 35 years. The only thing that was holding it and the box spring together was dust mites. To my friends who crashed on that bed, my apologies. But know I did have a liner between the mattress and the sheets, so you should be okay. (I'm talking to you, Amy Place.)

Another great use for a mattress is to document teen crushes on it with nail polish. Look closely and you'll see I hearted Mark at some point. Not sure when. Not even sure who. But he was significant enough to warrant permanent documentation on my mattress. My pre-teen, angst-riddled love, displayed on my curb for all to see. You're welcome, Deffenbaugh guy. You are welcome.