There are few things in life that bring me the joy that I find in moving all my possessions from one location to another.
Among that list are root canals, colonoscopies, the stomach flu and calamari. Perhaps I have understated that a bit. Imagine everything on that list visiting all in the same day, and that is very close to the disdain I have for moving day.
Nonetheless, that’s how we spent last weekend.
Through the years I have packed most of my material goods and moved long distances and short distances, and I have never been able to determine which of the two I loathed the least. I remember making a move from Wilmington to Hodgenville, Ky. once (over 200 miles one way) and making two trips per day with a single straight truck, enduring a mechanical breakdown on the second trip out, and not hating that move any worse than the local move we made this weekend.
Until recent years, each time I picked up my marbles and moved away, I would recruit as many friends and family members as I could to assist in the move.
I suppose that explains why nine out of 10 people you talk to who used to be my friend now respond, “Herb who?” (just kidding). The last two moves, we hired a professional moving company to “professionally” load up our marbles and move to another location, and let me say this about that — it is worth every penny they charge!
During the move, I showered the owner of the moving company with accolades like, “I admire you for making a career of something that I hate doing so much,” and “There must be a special place in Heaven for you guys,” and believe it or not they presented me with a bill afterward anyway.
They have this thing down to a fine science. I saw men half my size carry dressers, trunks and other large objects by themselves! They have some type of “leverage straps” they put on and it gives them the ability to move objects that it always took two, and sometimes four of us, to move. Incredible.
This move was particularly daunting because during the six or so months we spent remodeling the house, I knew that the only possible way to move our furniture into the second floor would be through an upstairs window.
There were only two other options, the most doable was install an elevator, and, of course, that was not within the realm of budgeting reality. The second option was some complicated plan that involved a Huey helicopter and cabling for lifting a roof.
Probably more suited for the movies.
I watched these men scale ladders with loads strapped to their backs that I thought defied physics. I marveled as they seemed to levitate box springs and mattresses from their truck into a second story window, and they did it all with a smile and a song on their lips! (OK, I overstated that a bit. Alright, a lot).
The move was close enough in proximity that we used the professional movers for the heaviest of lifting. They even moved unwanted heavy articles to a temporary resting ground that made it more manageable for us. We were able to move household items with no problem.
I would like to say that this moving experience changed my mind about moving.
Sure, I would like to say that, but I would be lying. I still become nauseated when I think about the grueling task.
I would like to think that this move is my final move, however, with death being the only exception, I know better than to say never. I would also like to say that with the completion of the weekend this job is complete.
That, too, would be a lie as the work is only beginning.
You know, things like trying to find my toothpaste, the power cord to my laptop, and that tiny little attachment that goes to my socket set whose only purpose in life is vital to reassembling our granddaughters’ bunk beds.
I hate moving.
Herb Day is a longtime local radio personality and singer-musician. You can email him at HEKAMedia@yahoo.com and follow his work at www.HerbDayVoices.com.