It all started back on a cold, dank Saturday in
January. I picked up a copy of the most
recent MDIslander (it was enjoyable then because both my boys lived far, far away, and
I am dull, so there was no danger of any of our names appearing in the Police
Blotter. Again.). An ad for a new real estate listing caught my
eye, and when my fella (hereinafter referred to as Aquaman -- rather than what the neighbors call him 'Poor Bastard') came home later
that day, we drove by the house, and instantly loved it. Several thousand deadlines, documents and dollars later, we are the proud
owners of the most perfect home.
As soon as we got
word that our offer was accepted, I started packing things I wouldn’t be
needing between Valentine’s Day (the day our offer was officially accepted) and
Mother’s Day (approximately when we would be closing). I quickly determined that such things as
decorative martini glasses (not the every day ones), snow globes and the spring
wardrobe could safely be tucked in boxes.
Stairway to a heavenly deck |
My packing process began as a system that would make Martha
Stewart salute me. Every breakable thing
was wrapped in bubble wrap before being
lovingly nestled into a sturdy box with others of its kind. The box was then securely taped and labeled
with the contents and exact destination – for example, the first 12 boxed were
labeled ‘decorative martini glasses/2nd floor/ living room/ left
corner.
As those of you who have purchased a home know, the paperwork
process does not always run smoothly.
Fairly early on, our banker was frequently and earnestly hopeful that
the ‘one more document’ needed from an attorney would be forthcoming and we
could close soon. Of course this same
banker is hopeful we will live long enough to make 360 equal monthly payments. The first few times I, being the impatient
type, interpreted ‘soon’ to mean NOW, and continued packing. After a while, I decided to cease all packing
until we had a definite, set-in-stone closing date. We set up the guest bedroom at the
Fabulously Appointed Bungalow (hereinafter referred to as FAB) as a staging area, stacked the carefully packed,
taped and labeled boxes therein and went about our normal lives.
When we got the word that our closing would definitely be
Good Friday at 3PM, I was somewhat skeptical, but returned to packing,
somewhat. By the morning of Good
Friday, I realized that no one had
called to postpone the closing, and it might actually happen. And (show of hands, who’s surprised) I was
not nearly ready for the exodus from the fabulously appointed bungalow. Oh, mentally I had the Ranch To Be Named Later (hereinafter referred to as RTBNL)
all furnished and decorated, but for a poor white gal I own a lot of crapulence, and Aquaman added a whole lot more when he moved in. And it all had to be transported to the RTBNL.
Once the papers were signed, the oil in the tank paid for, the
key was officially in Aquaman's hand (I tend to lose things like that) and the champagne cork was popped, the packing
process took on both a frantic pace and a rapid decline. Instead of bubble-wrapping each plate in my
entertainment closet, I’d wrap a whole stack before stuffing them in a box- they may be wrapped in bubble wrap, maybe newspaper, maybe an old sweatshirt. Labeling spiraled from the detailed notations
to ‘Dishes/Kitchen', then just 'Wherever' .
You could track my mood by some of the labels; i.e. ‘HOW MANY F*&%ING COOKBOOKS DOES ONE WOMAN
NEED? It should be noted that I was too lazy to actually draw the asterisk, ampersand
and percent symbols so I just used the real letters. Realizing I would eventually have to unload
all these freaking boxes, I started labeling them with random street addresses
(so if they fell off the truck they would not be returned to me). It was about them that my Sharpie privileges
were revoked, so the contents of the last dozen boxes are pretty much anybody’s
guess.
A sure sign I was growing weary of the packing process was when
I opened the liquor cabinet, pulled out 2 open Hornitos tequila bottles – one
silver, one gold. Each had about two
shots of the good stuff. I know you are
all thinking ‘You didn’t mix them together did you?’ Oh no, I was lazier than that. I dumped them down the drain. I began to regret that decision about an hour
later when I remembered I hadn’t yet tackled the Large Lad’s festering pile of stuff in
the basement. Tequila would have made
that a far more pleasant experience.
I did find that heavy black trash bags are the lazy gal’s
best moving pal. Sure, they can be used
to dispose of things (and are opaque so my fella cannot see exactly what I have decided I only want
to haul as far as the dumpster) but they can be used to pack things such as
linens and coats – and if they are mistaken for bags of trash and end up in the
dumpster, so be it. Marden’s gets new
shipments of linens and coats daily. I was not allowed to follow behind Aquaman while we made multiple trips to from the formerly FAB to the RTBNL, probably because I said in my outdoor voice that if anything fell off the back of his truck I would just run over it.
On Easter we got the RTBNL basically set up (TV, bed and coffee maker) so we could sleep there while we finished moving. While Aquaman worked at the RTBNL, I finished packing and cleaning the formerly FAB. Oh look, I chattered to no one in particular. 2 saucers – why are there 2 saucers in the back of the cupboard. Now there are 2 saucers in an opaque trash bag. I realized about the time I stuffed a lonely water glass in a camo boot which may or may not belong to the large lad and may or may not have a mate, that packing had hit rock bottom.
I crammed our remaining possessions in the back of my Jeep –
still chanting the ‘be careful it’s a lease’ mantra, steam cleaned my way out
through the kitchen, and closed the door on the formerly FAB one last time.
We’ve made 3 equal monthly payments (only 357 to go!), and
we have definitely made progress toward making the RTBNL our home. Oh sure, there are still boxes to be
unpacked, but those are what I call the ‘Christmas boxes’ because I will be as
surprised as anyone when I unpack them.
The one I tackled yesterday contained 2 faded throw pillows, a can of
tuna, the tassel from Golden Boy’s high
school graduation and 2 boxes of pineapple Jell-o.Yes, those are 8Track tapes |
We want to send a heartfelt Thank You to both Island Housing Trust and Bar Harbor Savings and Loan for making our dream possible. No thanks at all go to the Maine State Lottery.