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First I’d like to thank welby for bridging the gap. He did a fabulous job. That’s what I’d like. Then again part of me is crying “What has been wrought in my name?” But mostly it’s “thanks welbs, yer a pal!”, so I’ll stick with that.
P’shew! We’re all moved into our shiny house. (Not that it’s brand new (but it is the newest house I’ve lived in since… 1987), it’s just that the last people really liked shiny things- lamps, wall switches, outlet covers. If it can come covered in shiny brass, they got them some. Mostly I’ve got it replaced by now. I’m just a matte kinda guy.) At least I think we are. (Moved that is, in case you forgot in the parenthetical aside.) What I mean is: I shall move no more stuff forever. Here I am and here I stay and when I die just burn the place down around me. Like a Viking funeral, only without the boat. Or the Viking really, since out of all the places my forebears came from the home of the Vikings ain’t one of them. At least as far as I know. (Sven DeDay? I don’t think so.)
Speaking of “forebears”, it looks like we gave the basement bears the slip. We didn’t even give them a forwarding address, so it’s not like they can just hop in a cab and tell the driver “go here!” and give them a piece of paper with our new address. It’s just as well really, since the new house (Rancho DeDay? I’m still working on it.) doesn’t have a basement. It does have a crawl space, but I’m not sure the bears would really enjoy that. It’s a little cramped. And it has spiders. I don’t think basement bears like to share their digs with spiders.
The whole move thing was an adventure. If anyone wants to move anytime soon and they want me to recommend a mover, sorry, can’t. I can tell you about a mover that relies on little bitty trucks and… how to put this… uhh… trying to be nice here… nope, not going to happen… the movers were idiots. Not all of them, there was a crew of three, and the one guy was smart. He was in charge of packing the truck. The other two (the “schleppers”) not NASA material if you know what I mean. But they got our stuff on the truck and brought it to the new house and then they went away. Well, most of our stuff. All the important stuff anyway. As it turns out, the new people at our old house don’t have to buy a dryer right away. (That’s not as bad as it sounds. We had to get a new dryer anyway. Our new house is “all electric” and our old dryer was mostly gas. It had a cord too, but that was just for show. It didn’t dry the clothes that way and that’s what a dryer is for, drying clothes.) (Oh, and our new dryer has a light in it. So the clothes don’t get scared while they tumble around in the hot.) There was also a table that got left, but like the dryer, it wasn’t something we need here at the new place. The movers moved all the important stuff, and that’s what counts.
Only they didn’t move all our stuff. There was this big pile of stuff they looked at and said “we’re not moving that”. OK, fine. Mostly it was lamps. The kind you buy in a box and then screw together. That kind. So we unscrewed them and threw them in the car and that took care of that. We also moved our food, what there was of it. (I just stocked our larder back up this weekend. The final tally, since we skipped a whole grocery cycle and were down to eating crackers with water on them for breakfast, was “heart attack” high. But it didn’t kill me outright and now we have plenty to nosh on.) I had all the food in the trunk and brought it up first thing Moving Day. That way I could just put it away in the fridge (The fridge came with the house. I don’t know how I ever lived without the miracle of ice and water in the door. It’s amazing!) and then I could switch out the faulty CSI outlets (Those are the ones that keep you from getting electrocuted AND if there’s ever a crime in your house, they collect DNA evidence for the police. Everyone should have CSI outlets in every room.) and then sit back and wait for the movers. That’s not the way it worked out. Which actually is just as well.
Since the movers had a whole pile of stuff they didn’t want to move (and they couldn’t anyway given their itty bitty truck) I had to drop off the food and then go back for another carload of stuff. But first I was a little hungry. All the food I moved was frozen (or it was a jar of some condiment) but there was an under-the-shelf toaster left. So I toasted up some frozen bread and you know what? The under-the-shelf toaster works just as well as our conventional sit-on-the-counter model! So the sit-on-the-counter toaster is going into our garage sale. (Unless one of yous guys wants it. Let me know.) The under-the-shelf can opener isn’t as good as our trusty Swing-Away (the can opener used on Skylab!) so that’s outta there along with our old toaster.
At the end of the day, we had all our furniture in mostly the rooms it all belonged in and a garage full of boxes. Were we going to cook? Not with a pizza place conveniently located. (It’s even a LaRosa’s. There’s no Graeter’s (that’s ice cream) around here, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices.) So, the Little Woman called in our order and I went to pick it up. (We didn’t know what kind of delivery schedule they ran and we wanted our pizza NOW!) When I got there, (and “there” was next to a vet’s office which was next to a Chinese restaurant. Hmmm…) they asked me who I was (or “whom was I” if you want to be all proper) so they could give me our pizzas and not someone else’s. So I told them. Only no one wrote down our name and what pizza was ours. Not to worry, they have a back-up system. They ask you your phone number. “Can I have your phone number?” the nice kid behind the counter asked. “No. No you can’t,” I answered. See, here’s the deal. We JUST MOVED. One of the many many fun things about moving is they give you a brand new phone number. A whole string of fiddley little numbers all lined up and you have to remember them. In order. It was the “order” part that threw me. I knew all the digits (there are only three distinct numbers, they just get used over a couple of times each) just not how they line up. Luckily for me (and the nice kid behind the counter actually) they give pizzas to idiots whats don’t know they own phone numbers. As long as you give them money. (A cool bit of trivia on the phone number front. My new number? It’s a palindrome. Pretty cool huh? Now I have no trouble remembering it. I’m ready for my next pizza Mr. DeMille.)
I finally got the CSI outlets replaced. The word “fiasco” sums things up nicely. One went fine. Just fine. No problems. Just to lure me into a false sense of security. Then the next one was wired all backward. In the old CSI that meant it circumvented the whole not-electrocute-you aspect. In the new one it meant that, PLUS it meant that I’d be tripping the breaker all the time. After the twelveth or so reset, I took the whole thing back out of the wall and checked the current. To make sure I knew which was the “load” and which was the “line”. (I know that’s what it’s called because it’s stamped on the back of my outlets.) Luckily I had just the tool I needed for the job. You know how as a kid you’d check 9-volt batteries by touching them to you tongue and seeing if it’d tingle? OK, you weren’t checking them and it wasn’t your tongue but it was a fun trick to pull on your little brother. (It tastes like oranges! Really!) Well, the same concept applies to house current. Only it doesn’t taste like oranges. It tastes like chocolate. (Ha! That Skippy! He’s so much fun to have around!) After the quick check of the current, I got the wiring hooked up right. Then all was well. Until it was time to fix the CSI in the Mysterious Floating Electrical Box of DOOM! The junction box wasn’t hooked to anything. It was just floating there, behind the drywall. Having the outlet screwed into the junction box keeps the plug in one place. It’s just getting the outlet screwed into the junction box while it’s jinking and jiving around in the wall that’s so much fun. But I got it all changed out (Vice Grips are your friend!) and put back together. I also have a plan to fix the drywall and the Floating Electrical Box of DOOM! when it gets pulled right out of the wall. “Look to the future” that’s my motto.
Now, most of our stuff is put away. We can find most things. (But the whole “Scavenger Hunt” aspect to looking for, say, the long orange extension cord is quite a treat.) There’s some stuff (just a couple of things really) we need professionals to come by and take care of. (Like we had to have them come by to start Skippy’s heart back up when he licked the hot house current wires.) Other than that, we’re settling in. I can even call myself on the phone if I feel the need. Only, oddly, I always get the busy signal.
-Rue.
But welby did a fine job as Rue-for-a-day!! I’m sorry your movers weren’t very good. I must say if I ever have to move again (like if the nice people at city hall won’t let us add a second floor in a couple years) I will have movers. Preferably the same guys who did my move last year.
