Van Day: Part 2

Deciding to be optimistic, we kept bringing out furniture. When we had nine modular dresser components, two bookshelves, two desks, and and four wire racks still left to be put in the truck – and it was 2/3 full, I reminded her that we still haven’t loaded a single box. This was just furniture. There are still acres of boxes piled ceiling high.

She stopped, squinched up her face, and became her alter-ego: Tetris. Tetris can work miracles. She strarted re-arranging the things in the van and somehow made a sofa, a table, two racks and a desk disappear. I kept bringing her boxes. Three and four at a time, as many as the dolly would allow. For three more hours I brought her boxes and somehow the truck got LESS full.

We were both walking back and forth to the apartment getting things, so we were pretty much always there, but we both stepped inside at the same time for about a minute… and that’s all it took. I needed help carrying the microwave stand. When we stepped out, their truck was backing up to our van and one guy was already standing in the street. Not skipping a beat, I called out “Hey! Oh, I thought you were our help for a minute there!” and played dumb.

The guy tried to cut us off, keep us distracted – but I already saw the second guy and didn’t stop walking. Now that we had the standing guy surrounded, he had to think fast. He friend in the truck almost left him. He asked where we got something, then asked where the store was. It was the worst small talk in history, then he bolted.

Now we had to guard the truck because we almost got ripped off once. This slowed things down.

By 6:30, most of the boxes are in the van, and it’s still only about 2/3 full. Caren is about ready to drop. I’m pretty tired too. We’ve not stopped moving for 11 hours… then it starts raining. That’s when we get the message that the new tenant will not be moving in tomorrow after all.

So, we got some handmade noodles from Judy Fu’s, and sat down, finally.

It’s 9:35. We’re sprawled on a mattress on the floor. C’s asleep, and I hope soon to be.

Now instead of finishing first then sleeping, it’s sleep first then finish. Instead of being finished by noon, we’re going to sleep until noon.

Van Day: Part 1

Our apartment is tiny. A shotgun 11′x34′ rectangle with an 8′x6′ bathroom attached. Around 7:30pm last night, we ran out of room to pack. The apartment was full. We couldn’t even open another box. We couldn’t pack any more until some of the boxes left this place. So we called a friend over, sat on the sofa, and watched Ugly Betty, Dirty Jobs, and The New Adventures of Old Christine we had on the TiVo.

Van day started @ 7am. Caren and S from downstairs (I really should learn his name) went to pick up the moving van while I guarded two parking spots and the driveway leading back to our apartment.

People were kind enough to mutter “fu**off” under their breath as they moved their cars for me. Pre-coffee dawn-ish is not the best time to be asking for favors.

Caren arrives with the van and we get it all situated. She jumps out and tells me that we got a free upgrade to the 15 foot because they were out of 12s. I thought we were getting an 18 or a 20. I begin to get nervous.

We begin the loading process going to the shed to get our GIANT WROUGHT IRON TABLE AND SIX GIANT CHAIRS. After that, the entertainment center. (2 bookshelves and a TV stand). The van is half full.

It’s 8:00am and I’m already tired.

Male Bonding: How Guys Say Goodbye

Tonight, as a “we’ll miss you”, the two bachelors who live in the basement took me out. They’re really nice guys, but I’m five years older and fifteen years more married than either one of them, so for me it was like a night on safari. It was a real life Animal Planet, with beer and live music.

It didn’t start out that way. It started out as a nice dinner.

J and S had a party last night (their dog turned 3, so it was as good an excuse as any for loud music and beer). I threw some meat on the grill, met some of their friends, grabbed a bite, and said goodnight. C was better with the small talk, and I ended up meeting our newest neighbor. He reminds me of Steve Zahn. Nice guy; would have loved to have had him for a neighbor.

Anyway, so tonight J and I were going to hang out. He suggested food. He’s a food snob, so I was game for any place he suggested. He ended up taking me to this little Mediterranean place, where I ate incredible beef and impressive chicken. I also had my first two beers. J had a drink so strong that his leftover ice tasted like a tequila snow cone.

That’s when S called.

Two pitchers of beer later, the bar we’re in is getting boring in spite of the pictures of Telly Savalis, Steve Martin, Burt Reynolds taken from vintage magazines and turned into Men’s Room wallpaper. The pitt bull over by the pinball machine is now taking up a booth to itself, and the DJ has been spinning the same beat since the last time I went to the bathroom.

We grab Flex (S’s Boston Terrier) and we head to a place by the pier, under the viaduct, where three guys in leather and their drummer make eyes at the only three women in the place while they played Silverchair, The Darkness and Chris Isaac.

I hoot and holler and drink another beer. I bang my head. It’s been twenty years, my neck could use it. After the band finished their set, another Chandler and Joey who came out that night continued to drunkenly sing along to the Guns N’ Roses CD that played as the drummer packed up gear. I sang along, not knowing if I was enjoying it in an ironic or nostalgic way, and not caring. I had my fifth beer.

Most everyone was hanging out front. Some were smoking, all were drinking, and the homeless were asking for change. I struck up a conversation with a few of the underprivileged. Two were just guys on the hustle. One was a very sad woman, and two were the real deal. One man, Mike, took the time to talk to me like a person. He has a warm place for tonight, but who knows about tomorrow. Another man, I didn’t catch his name, sang me a song. He says he’d get a gig if he could… and he looked at his feet.

I thanked him for his time and went back to the huddled smokers in the tiny pen by the front door of the bar.

The guys in the band turned out to be cool guys, and I almost bummed a smoke from one but realized it’s been over two years since my last one and decided not to even tempt that demon.

Back into the bar, the Sing-along Twins are belting out Poison’s “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn”, and playing air guitar. That’s when I realize I haven’t thought about the herd of boxen in my kitchen for almost six hours.

Thanks Guys.

Those Three Words

Caren had been thinking it for a while, but it slipped out quite accidentally.

C and her BioMom speak every few days. We get farm updates fand give packing updates. They’re becoming friends, and are just enjoying talking about everything and nothing.

Another horse is about to go into labor; one was just born. We rented out not only our apartment, but the empty one below it; so our landlords can go on their honeymoon with zero vacancies. BioStepDad’s Corvettte is running better. I made sourdough pancakes in a half-packed kitchen. Blah, blah blah. How’s the weather there. Hot? It’s nice here today, but rainy yesterday. Blah, blah. Well, I gotta go. Love you.

And then she realized she said it.

There was only a split second to panic before an excited squeal came out of the phone and a gush of ILOVEYOUTOO turned her panic to joy. She tried to say something else, but BioMom already said “okayallrightthenokaybye” and hung up the phone.

It was so cute.

They’ve talked a few times since then, and the calls end with I love you and I love you, too. Them moving van gets here in six days.

Meeting The Family: An Adoption Reunion

<— (Packing: Where the Past and Future Collide)

Vancouver, BC became “Seattle for a few months while we get approved for Permanent Resident status.” Without rat-race jobs you have to have proof of funds. $12659 Canadian. In the nearly three years we’ve been here, we’ve watched the exchange rate play with our emotions, but we stayed optimistic and saved our pennies.

Then, eight weeks ago, my wife found her birth mother.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

On April 30, we will be picking up our moving van and moving to a small farm in Texas to get to know the family.

We flew out once, but stayed in a hotel. These ARE strangers, after all.

C’s parents kept in touch with each other over the years, so when we visited we were able to meet her birth father as well. The two of them looked so cute together and behaved like teenagers. They kept staring at C.

“She has your hands!”

“She has YOUR nose!”

“Remember the time when…”

They laughed and joked and played and reminisced. Our trip turned into a family reunion. It was the best birthday my wife ever had.

The next night, we went to a small hamburger-joint/ice-cream-parlor. While sitting there, C’s birth mother and father discovered the plot to break them up all those years ago.

It started with a flippant remark. Something about the girl he dated after she left to have the baby. It turns out it was a set-up and a one-time thing to cheer him up for when she disappeared.

“When you didn’t answer my letters, I thought you’d moved on,” she said.

His face fell. “What letters?”

“I wrote to you every day for the first month”

His eyes glassed over.

She continues. “…and you never…”

He shakes his head.

They sit silently, connecting the dots. They each thought the other had left them.

He never knew why she left so abruptly without a word, she never knew why he ignored her explanation and dated someone else while she was gone. Even though they went to high school together for another year and saw each other at the annual homecoming game, this was the first time they had ever talked about their breakup.

Shortly after graduation, C’s mother met the love of her life, to whom she’s still married. She lives on a large plot of land. Part farm, part ranch, part homestead – it has hayfields, a barn, a cabin and two houses (with a third coming soon) – along with horses, llamas, rabbits, cats, and dogs.

We’ll be staying in the cabin.

C’s father married twice. The second time stuck. He has a child for each marriage. He lives a few towns over.

C’s mother never had any other children.

They seem like nice enough people, and I look forward to knowing them better.

Packing: Where the Past and Future Collide

I don’t have to begin packing until Saturday. I know this because I have packing down to a science. I’ve done it enough times.

When my wife and I were first married, we moved every six months. Sometimes less than six months if writing wasn’t paying the bills and there were no Help Wanted signs to be seen.

It was more like apartment hopping than moving, even if our friends did have to drive 50 or 60 extra miles to come see us.

As the years passed, the corporate job that overworked/underpaid Caren kept us from getting too far in any one direction, but when you work sales you don’t have to report into the office in person very often and she never minded a long drive.

Six months, move. Six months, move. Six months, move. For vacation, we’d go even farther. We were itching to get away.

As the 90s wound on and the money got better, a short flight became cheaper than long drive. The distance grew.

Our last three stops were nine months, twenty-two months, and now… two years and eight months.

Wow. Has it really been that long? No wonder Seattle feels like home. It feels good to have a place on this dusty ball where we feel that way.

Our stop in Seattle wasn’t planned. Originally, San Luis Obispo, California was going to be our home. My wife was going to quit the rat race in nine months, and we were going to move to the coast and flip hamburgers for tourists. Then three things happened.

First, a 6.5 earthquake in San Simeon crumbled much of SLO County. Second, the rat-race job that was going to be paying for all of this got wind of the plan and fired Caren four months early. Third… third is for another post.

So nine months became twenty-two months and SLO became Vancouver, BC.

Vancouver, BC became “Seattle for a few months while we get approved for Permanent Resident status.” Without rat-race jobs you have to have proof of funds. $12659 Canadian. In the nearly three years we’ve been here, we’ve watched the exchange rate play with our emotions, but we stayed optimistic and saved our pennies.

Then, eight weeks ago, my wife found her birth mother.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

Things I’ll miss: Golden Gardens Park

I’m a bit of a beach bum. The sun, the sand, the surf, the sun, the people. The sun. I’m a bit solar powered. Nothing sounds better than a day outside, and a day at the beach is like a double-espresso shot of sunshine.

A short drive up the road is a small cafe called The Purple Cow. It’s a great place to grab lunch before heading back to Golden Gardens to watch the sunset and maybe stick around a while for the bonfires.

I spent many an evening strolling up the sidewalk hand-in-hand with Caren, stopping to sit on a log and plunge our toes into the sand, getting an ice cream from the small stand at the end of the walk, or sitting on a bench curled in a blanket watching the sun disappear over the mountains in the western sky beyond Puget Sound.

Things I’ll miss: Getting a Burger at Dick’s

When we first landed, we were flat broke, had nowhere to live, no jobs, and only enough money to survive for 90 days. The first meal we ate was at Dick’s.

“Gimme a cheese, a deluxe, two fry, a chocolate, and large coke.” was spoken twenty more times before summer was over. Cheap, fast, and the best darned little burger I’d eaten in over a thousand miles.

Mmm. A cheeseburger sounds good right about now. I wonder if that guy is still selling bubble tea out of the edge of QFC? It would give me a chance to stroll up Broadway and do a little window shopping.

Besides, I need a souvenir. Can you get a souvenir cheeseburger?

We’re going to be living with strangers!

[The Tech portions of this article has moved.]

For the first two weeks after we land, we’re staying in some kind strangers home until our cabin is ready.

The cabin is only accessible by golf cart.

…and by ready, I mean “has a toilet”. The bathtub is outside, which I guess is OK for spring and summer – but I will have to do something about it eventually, but I think a new fuse box is top priority.

The Pre-Packing Begins

I’m currently living in a house that’s been converted into five apartments. I live in the back half of the ground floor, overlooking the back deck and beyond that is the coy pond and storage shed.

When we first moved into the place, we were in the basement, but the low ceilings started freaking me out so they let us switch.

My landlord is my upstairs neighbor. He’s a pretty decent guy. He’s getting married this afternoon.

All in all, it’s a decent place to live. The only drawback is my landlord’s dog.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s a sweet dog, but she’s kinda clingy. For the first two months I lived here, the dog would immediately scratch on my door after her owner left for work, and demanded to spend the day with me.

Stupid dog with her stupid big sad puppy dog eyes.

That’s not why she’s a drawback.

When spending the day with her, she’d lay at my feet while I wrote or edited. With her flaky, smelly skin against my feet. If I made the mistake of touching her, I would be forced to scratch her for hours at a time.

That’s not why she’s a drawback, either. It turns out it was a food allergy, and she’s healthier and happier.

The reason why she’s a drawback is because we aren’t giving notice that we’re moving out.

We’re not skipping out on our rent, or on our lease. (We don’t have a lease) But we’re not giving notice until we are 100% certain that the move is this month, and not next… and we won’t know that for another week.

Besides, he has wedding things to worry about. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.

And while he is off exchanging vows – I will be moving all of my moving boxes from the storage shed into our apartment. I’ll be moving out while he’s on his honeymoon.

How does this make the dog a drawback? It doesn’t.

I just have nothing to write about and “I’ve got to get the boxes out of storage”, “My landlord’s getting married” and “Hey, there’s Scuffins!” was all I had to work with.

Remembering Last Time – Part 3

No one can enter or exit the parking lot. It’s 8:30am, the car carrier is still sitting against the security gate’s pole and the gate itself is opening and closing on itself and the empty carrier. Traffic on Shelby starts picking up.

I try lifting.

It lifts, but Caren is too tired to push it.

We switch.

I try pushing, it won’t budge, because Caren is too tired to lift it.

I’m ready to break down and cry when a kindly stranger appears. OK, that’s not true. I’m ready to scream and kick the carrier when a guy walked up and I was embarrassed that I wanted to act like a baby.

He lifts, I push and slowly the carrier starts to move. First one inch, then two, then three. We shift our weight and try to get it to turn. The twisted piece of metal that was once the wheel well rubs against the warm rubber tire making a noise and a smell that reminded me of how well the morning was going.

No longer pointed at the gate’s pole, we set it free. It rolled into the street. We now had enough room to move the truck out of the parking lot.

Looking at the now very dented wheel well, I suddenly become aware that every tool I own (nee.. every THING I own) is packed away in the moving van – not that I owned a dent puller or a crow bar or anything remotely appropriate, but at this point even a hammer would be helpful.

Caren says “Oh!”, turns around, and leaves me to bake in the morning sun while I stand in the street with cars swerving around our disabled carrier.

A minute later she returns with a tool.
That’s about as specific I can get.

“This is all I can get to”, she declares while handing it to me.

It’s a piece of the Element’s jack. The crank, I think. It’s not really a tire tool, not really a crow bar, and not really helpful, but it was all we had.

The surgery didn’t have to be beautiful, it just had to work. After twenty minutes of each of us giving it all the strength we had, the metal was no longer rubbing against the tire.

More cars drive around us, slowing down to see what we’re up to.

We decide that the best way to proceed would be to attach the car carrier to the moving van, then park the duo against the curb.

Caren, now behind the wheel of a 15-foot moving van filled to almost double capacity, turns the key. The truck is brand new. We are just the second people to rent it. The engine comes to life and the hulk moves forward, down the slope of the parking lot, past the car carrier in the street, and into the driveway of the building across from us.

She cuts the wheel to the left, and drops it into reverse. With the expertise of a pro, she backs the van up to the trailer putting the hitch directly where it need to be. My jaw drops.

I think back to my trailer-hitch training from my childhood.

The hook thingee goes over the ball thingee… check! The ball thingee gets locked. Hmmm… how do you lock one of these things? It doesn’t look like the one I had growing up. I guess I should have watched the instructional video more than once and closer to moving day rather than six weeks before the move, right before my first viewing of Shrek 2.

I push, I pull, I stand on the thing…. nothing seems to lock it. Then I twist it to the left and it pops into place! Will it come unlocked? That question won’t be answered for 2300 miles. I put the safety pin in place so it won’t unlock on it’s own and continue the hooking up process.

I attach the brake cable to the van so the trailer will have brakes (it’s kinda important), and open the wire box for the final connections. It looked as if R2-D2 had thrown up in there. As I fight with the wires, a large cement truck pulls out of the construction zone down the street and starts coming toward us…

Remembering Last Time – Part 2

So as we sat there in the dark in an ever-increasingly warm apartment, Caren realized how tired she was and we put off leaving until morning.

Jason bid us adieu, and we went to “bed”. (“Bed” being the futon mattress without any extra padding on the hard wooden floor).

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, the lights came back on. Oh, well – at least we now have air conditioning.

Come morning, we realize how unfinished we actually were. Boy, that place was dirty!

After another couple of hours scrubbing, wiping, and sweeping we were ready to leave.

The car carrier needed to be moved to the street. As it started picking up momentum going down the hill, I realized that I had no control of the steering. Caren stood between the hard steel wheel well (which was quickly approaching) and the hard steel beam of the security gate. The only word to come out of my mouth was “MOVE!!!!!” Luckily, she listened.

She took two steps back just in time to keep both her legs from getting crushed.

BAM!!

Now the wheel well is dented and rubbing against the tire – and the whole thing is too heavy for me to move alone. It’s stuck. It’s 8:30am and beginning to get warm.

Remembering Last Time

Two weeks before I even start packing, I’m going a bit stir crazy. With nothing to do but think about moving, I got to thinking about our move here. Here’s an excerpt from that tale:

Shortly after you left us to finish packing, things slowed down. The intense heat and the long hours started catching up with us. We grabbed a bite to eat and kept working, figuring a snail’s pace is still faster than stopping. The hours marched on. Darkness fell. It cooled to a nice 97 degrees outside. Then, my body chose to turn against me. Caren and Jason had to finish packing without me. I tried to help, but I was just in the way – or in the bathroom.

Sometime around 10pm, insanity started gripping Jason. When the moving van was full, but the apartment wasn’t empty – I think his mind snapped. Desperate to finish, He stuck things where ever they’d fit. It didn’t matter what it was.

As the mercury dropped to a breezy 92 degrees around midnight, I started feeling better and began to realize that Jason was muttering to himself and packing garbage.

After several tries, we finally got everything in the moving van except for the futon mattress, our luggage for the trip, and my plants. Those things would have to go in the Element. It was 1:00am.

I was awake, but who knew for how long. Caren wanted to get on the road immediately. I told her it was a bad idea, that we needed food and sleep. She wouldn’t hear of it. She swept the floor and “finished” cleaning while Jason and I went to get Wendy’s (not knowing if I’d ever eat it again) and pow-wowed on how to change her mind. We couldn’t come up with anything. We were too tired.

When we got back to the apartment, we sat down and started eating – and then the electricity went out.

Quarters add up!

Tackling the To Do list, I started simple: Rolling all our spare change. I didn’t realize how quickly change adds up when you don’t fish the quarters out for the laundromat. (Our landlord finally fixed the washing machine.)

Grand total, One hundred and fifty-five dollars, not including the pennies.

My next thirty days

It’s a little weird to see your entire life on five sheets of paper, but there it is on the back of my door.

To Do:

I am about to move from Seattle, Washington to a small farm in Texas.

I’m a city dweller. I don’t know if I even own shoes appropriate for off-concrete use.

Where will I get fresh tofu? I don’t like the grocery store brands. I get my stuff from a small unmarked store on 12th Street in the Central District. $1 per brick of still-warm curd. It’s sunshine in a bag.

Now, I’m about to go live on a farm and help tend horses for 18 months.

Barring any financial disaster, the moving van is due here on April 30.

Well, I have to make it there first.