Home is where the stuff is

So, tomorrow’s the big day. We close on the Probable New Home, which will henceforth and evermore become known as the New Dallas Home. Until six months or a year go by, at least, at which time I will find some other name for it when the mood strikes me.

I hope we close, anyway. You never really know until the keys are turned over. We have all of our needed items in hand: Birth certificates. Credit reports for the past 19 years. Vaccination records. Summer camp certificate from 8th grade. Three Kellogg’s box tops. One Green Lantern secret decoder ring. And I robbed a bank, two jewelry shops, a liquor store and a 6-year-old’s lemonade stand on the way home, so we have the down payment, too. I’m sure they won’t mind these grubby stacks of $1 and $5 bills.

Mike the Mortgage Guy sent the final paperwork over this afternoon, fresh from Dr. Evil at the lender’s office. The email popped in at 5:14 p.m., resulting in a subsequent mad dash to the bank across town to get the cashier’s check. Bank managers love to have customers like me arrive at 5:52 p.m. with requests like that. It makes them feel invigorated and needed. And it reminded him to stop by Walgreen’s and pick up his Xanax refill, so it was helpful in two ways.

Of course, once Thor read on the daily email news update that we were closing, he promptly thought, “Hmm, I think I’ll schedule major thunderstorms for the Dallas area tomorrow.” This is to be expected, because of my obsession with the roof. It’s quite possible that we’ll close in the late morning, then be the owner of a lidless house a few hours later. I just hope the closet makes it through unscathed.

And at least our stuff won’t get wet, since it’s all still in Tennessee. I’ve found over the past two months that it’s not really important that you have your stuff with you. Although I have missed our TiVo and the 435 real-life murder mystery shows D has taped, my kitchen knives that will actually cut through something more substantial than butter, and my dust-covered telescope which I haven’t used in six years.

The joyful experience of moving all of it here won’t happen for another couple of weeks. I always wondered what dimbulb at U-Haul thought “Adventure in Moving” was a good slogan. Really, who wants “adventure” when you’re moving? “Uneventfulness in Moving” is much better.

A moving guy came to give us an estimate on moving the usual detritus of life: dishes, furniture, etc. He was a little confused, I think, when I demanded to know how much it would cost to move our big back yard, in-ground pool, storage shed, three nearby hills and our ancient cat to Dallas. Silly man, couldn’t even figure out how to do a few simple requests. They really need to hire better help.

Being as how I’m a bit obsessive and all, I had already packed up a few boxes before I came to Dallas. Like our books. Photo albums. Winter clothes. Summer clothes. Bathroom supplies. Kitchenware. DVDs. In fact, the entire garage is packed with neatly taped, labeled and stacked boxes. It’s a thing of beauty to behold. Rows of things make me happy.

Pretty much everything’s stacked in the garage now, come to think of it.

OK, so maybe I left D and her mom to live with just a few bare walls and a toaster. At least there’s a yard.

We also have D’s mom’s stuff to move here, along with her, of course. Because she sold her house a couple of months ago, she’s been staying with D in our house, and her stuff has been staying at a rented storage unit that costs more than my first apartment out of college, and is nicer, too. The same nice moving man is going to get that stuff to Texas for us, too.

I’m sure he didn’t mind having to do two different estimates, with two different billing arrangements, organized by some rather vague information. Like, “This stuff’s on the first ticket. This other stuff, over there, is on the second ticket. No, not that. That! And those. And a couple of these boxes, but not all of them. And there’s some stuff in the attic, but I think we’re giving most of that to Goodwill, so only count about half of it.”

I mean, they call ’em “estimates” for a reason, right?

The total for the move is more than we charged at Vandy for a quadruple-bypass and seven-night stay in the ICU. And that doesn’t include extra insurance. You need this extra insurance, because with the basic insurance, you aren’t “fully covered.”

The translation for “not fully covered” is, “should we happen to hit a big bump on the interstate in Arkansas and drop your dining room table off of our truck, we will reimburse you for a prorated amount of its value. This amount would be approximately .000001 percent of the original purchase price or the cost of two half-inch wood screws, whichever is less.”

Can’t wait for that adventure in moving.

About wordsmith1313

Now: Somewhat retired, although I don't do it very well. Formerly senior director of Communications and Marketing for the Dallas Zoo. Journalist. EMT. Writer. Breast cancer survivor. I love to travel, and will always return from a trip with a new friend or two. Those fortuitous meetings bring velvet to the rough edges of life.
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2 Responses to Home is where the stuff is

  1. Susan says:

    Hi Laurie, I loved reading this post and only you can make moving sound like such an adventure. Congrats on the new house. Miss you!

  2. Sharon says:

    Laurie, Laurie, Laurie – I’m obsessed with your blog! Nothing makes me laugh more than starting the day with your antics (yes, I said antics) – miss you, Sharon

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