Every time I think we have done the last big thing, DrC schedules another weekend of slogging, blogging, flogging hard work. Last weekend, we had the pleasure of finally moving every last little bip and bob out of our commercial property. The tenant moves in March 28, and they are in a hurry to get us out of there.
"But I thought you'd already done that?" I hear you say.
So did I. But you're not done, I suspect, until someone else moves in. There appears to always be at least one more van load of trash to haul to the dump, 15 more boxes to put into storage, and B&B worth of furniture to give to Goodwill. It was a long long Easter involving very small quantities of chocolate and very large quantities of temper.
Ditto the house. This week, DrC has been finishing all the last bips and bobs at the house.
"But I thought you'd already done that?" you say.
So did I. Apparently, however, unfortunately, in any case, moreover... no.
Just no. Not done yet. But we have a tenant. They signed on the dotted line yesterday. And following my theory of you are not done until the tenant moves in, that means we'll be done in two weeks. In two weeks, we can not do anymore, because to do so would be to haul things out off through and betxixt the boxes of someone else.
To celebrate being done with other things -- and the arrival of spring -- I started the grand project to Make It White. Our boat looks like a flock of seagulls moved in and spent the winter eating blackberries and shitting compulsively while simultaneously staging a bar fight with the otters on the front deck. Which, come to think of it, is probably what actually happened. Unearthing the white hull from this multicolored crust of winter sludge is an unavoidable right of spring.
And Spring sprung this evening with another broken heater part and snow. Snow in March. Because we couldn't be any more excited about leaving, we needed to make sure that it snowed all the way through till the day we leave.
1 comment:
I always found this situation struck me every time I moved out of an apartment or house. The moving truck would leave -- aaaahhh, one might think with relief -- and then you'd give the place one last dance with the vacuum and LEAVE WITH YET ANOTHER CARLOAD OF G*D KNOWS WHAT.
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