THE MOVE

As I looked at the pitiful number of pictures from my move on my camera tonight, I realized that I pretty much slacked in the picture-taking department last weekend. I could have sworn I took more pictures than that! Nevertheless, a few is all I have to show for hours of work. But here are the promised stories anyway.

#1 The miracle of people showing up to help me move:

I was reminded, once again, that no matter how independent you are, how liberated and self-sufficient a woman you have become, there are just some things that it is impossible for you to do alone. One of those things is move from one house to another (at least when you own furniture). Now, there are many parts of a move I CAN do alone. I would like to point out in particular that I have now very successfully driven a 15 foot moving van by myself! But take a 1000 pound piece of furniture, for example. (OK, none of my furniture was exactly 1000 pounds, but some of the pieces might as well have been, for all the lifting them up, carrying them down stairs and hefting them into a moving truck I could have done on my own).

Some friends, some family, an acquaintance who is a friend of a friend, the husband of a friend, and even a perfect stranger from my ward showed up to help move boxes and furniture. Down the stairs. Into the moving van. Packing it nice and tight (there was even room left over!). Out of the moving van. Down the stairs again. Etc. And the best part about it? They all acted like they were happy to help. I didn't even feel all that guilty for the hours it ate out of their day or the sore muscles they surely experienced that night (or am I the only one who felt like I'd gotten run over by the moving truck?).

#2 The miracle of the couch:

When we got to my new place, everything needed to be maneuvered down a flight of stairs and then around a sharp turn and through a short hallway. Everything was going like clockwork - we had a system (which, at some point, apparently involved the women standing around chatting while we watched the men do the heavy lifting).

Then it was time to bring in the couch. Now, let me explain. This couch was my one furniture splurge when I bought my townhome 2 years ago. I'd been wanting a nice, microfiber couch for ages and I found MY couch. So when a couple of the guys explained to me that they had measured the couch and then measured the doorway to the stairs, and it just wasn't going to fit, I went into immediate denial. There had to be some mistake, I said. I measured the doorway myself. Then I measured the couch. Hmmmm.... it was 3 inches too long one way and about 6 inches too long the other. And this was the unbendable part of the couch, not the cushions you could squish down. My sis laughingly suggested we saw it in half. I started to feel a little nauseated. Not bring my couch with me on this move into a whole new place? I would still have my bedroom furniture, and that comforted me a little, but still.....

So I convinced my brother and brother-in-law that we should at least TRY to fit it down the stairs. If it didn't work, fine, but at least I would see the proof with my very own eyes and there would be no room for denial. I scraped up some faith and watched the men and my sis at work with the puzzle.

It took about 5 people, an hour, the removal of the handrail and the light fixture, and a little paint from the wall, but amazingly they got the couch through a doorway that was too small, around a corner that was too sharp and another doorway that was too short. My couch now resides in my new living room. Thanks to those who wouldn't give up!

#3 The miracle of many hands make light work (or at least a little less work for one pair):

I just have to add here that I had some angels visit my townhome on Tuesday as I was spending the day deep cleaning. I don't know how I would have finished all the cleaning without their hours of service! I guess I would have finished it, though......around 3:00 a.m. the next morning!

I am exhausted. I am never moving again. (I wish!) I am, most of all, grateful.