Our previous move had occurred 20 years earlier, from Chicago to Arizona, with much help from family and friends. To accomplish this move, we sent out a plea and were grateful for the number of people who came by to help load and unload the truck. What I had not thought through was that everyone was 20 years older. Observing these now “elderly” men hauling heavy furniture, I knew a big thank you party was in the near future. I also made a mental note to hire movers next time.
Generously our new neighbor sent over his college-age son to assist, a great asset when moving the piano. (He himself was recovering from illness). Friends unboxed kitchen supplies and freely discarded rogue Tupperware. Living in the neighborhood and having seen the grapefruit trees overwhelm the front yard, Big Bro was happy to assist by trimming the trees so we could park in the drive. Neighbors in the old neighborhood saved us much headache by extracting the refrigerator through a very tight doorway.
Any rain in Arizona is appreciated, even inconvenient. Moving day downpours demonstrated that the uncovered patio in the rear of the house would require covering. Refusing to do anything simply, we were already scheduled to begin a major renovation as soon as we moved in.
This moving day involved only Mike and my house, not ED’s. That would come a few weeks later. Even so, furniture placement was complicated. We were not moving dining room to dining room, den to den, guest room to guest room; rather dining room to breakfast room, den to dining room, kitchen table to bonus room, guest room to bedrooms. However, final decisions would be made when ED and the boys joined us after the renovation.
I loved our house on Watson Lane. It is where YD launched, where C-Boy grew up, where we celebrated ED’s marriage and welcomed grandchildren, where my mother spent her final years. When the house had been emptied, Mike and I stood in the hallway, and I cried.