Moving: Heaven and Hell

We are getting hardwood floors installed in the house this week, and we have moved into our neighbors’ duplex across the street.  They have been remodeling it for almost a year, and the work continues.  The previous owner did very little in the past decade, and the place was in need of major updates. 

We asked our neighbors about six weeks ago if we could move into their apartment.  They blanched, but said, “Sure.”

“I am happy to pay market rate for the whole month, and pay for utilities,” I said.

“Oh no,” the wife replied.  “You don’t have to pay me.  I am glad you are staying.  It will force us to get the place ready for someone to move in.”

The day before we moved in, the wife was telling us she was having the floor painted.  

“Egads!  You didn’t need to paint the floor for us!” I said.  “It won’t be dry in time, and we will just mark it up!  You should have waited until we moved out.”

“It won’t be a big deal,” she said.  “I will give it another coat as soon as you move out.”

Over the past few weeks, Elke, a college girl from Indiana who is helping me out around the house, helped me purge and clean before the move.  We had to clean out the basement to move stuff from the closet down there while the work is being done.  I’ve made a handful of trips to Goodwill and Value Village to unload stuff, plus a trip to the dump.  We’ve had numerous loads of recycling.

I thought that doing this (purging, cleaning, re-organizing) during a campaign might be a bad idea, but I find it a pleasant distraction.  There is a limited amount of control I have over my life as a candidate.  I can have control over the move, more or less.

The movers arrived yesterday morning to take our entire first floor and move us out.  We had far less to move, thanks to Elke.  The movers were supposed to arrive at 9:00 a.m.   They arrived at 8:40, just as the rain began.  It wasn’t a downpour, but it was heavier than a drizzle.  They were carrying the first load out by 8:50.  Kind of a bummer to have the only rain in a week happen while we were moving, but what can you do.

I walked into the apartment to see where to put the furniture.  Angela’s construction worker was laying down construction paper so our feet wouldn’t stick the floor.  They ran out, and had to run to Home Depot before we could finish the move.  The third bedroom was still a construction staging area, with an old water heater and lots of tools and wood debris.  We couldn't set that up as one of the kid’s room or move my desk in there, so we have extra furniture in the kitchen and living room.

But that wasn't all: there was no hot water heater, no oven, no cooktop and no refrigerator.  The shower wasn’t hooked up, even if we wanted to take a cold shower.   I had to bring over all of my hanging clothes, but there were no rods in the closet, so all of my clothes were draped on the couch.  It was a roof over our heads, but that was about it.  I told one friend we were moving out of one construction zone into another.  Jack joked that he wanted to see the thought bubbles above Angela and my heads when we had our previous conversation about using their space and she refused to take rent.

Lauren’s thought bubble: “I am happy to pay rent.  Please don’t think I am a mooch!”

Angela’s thought bubble: “Oh my god the place is a train wreck.  It will take a miracle to have it ready by the time they move it.  I can’t charge her for living a place that has no doorknobs!”

And I love the place.  It is not nearly the disaster it appears to be written on paper.  Our regular house is across the street, so we can easily go back and forth and shower, check the mail and access the internet.  My kids have the same walk to school, we still walk the dog on the same route.  But the convienence isn’t the whole reason I like it.

I feel genuinely happy to be living someplace else, and I don’t know why.  Back in my twenties, I moved every few years, from Chicago to Saint Louis, from an apartment in St. Louis to a house, and then from Saint Louis to Seattle.  With each move, came a cleansing and a purging, lightening the load.  It feels good to get rid of stuff that has hasn’t been used in ages, or to find new uses for old and forgotten things.  Angela needed shower hooks, and I had found an old set in the basement which I gave to her.  I lived in the same apartment in Chicago for all of my twenties, and I loved the place.  I also loved my house in Saint Louis.  Maybe I was longing for a change of scenery, and new location, a different perspective.  I’ve spent years looking at the house across the street.  Angela did a great job of picking a bright new exterior pain color, and has cleaned up all of the plants.  She fixed the retaining wall.  On the outside, it looks great.  But now I can sit and look out the window at my own house.  My friend Diane used to live in this spot, and she said we had a really cute house.  She would know, as she could see it all the time.  She was right.

Maybe I like this move because it is just like my place, minus the clutter.  There are no stacks of unread mail and magazines.  There are no stacks of notes from my countless meetings.  I don't have my hundreds of books.  It is clean and neat and tidy, but it also still my life.  It isn’t sterile like a hotel room or a vacation condo.  There is charm, and it is in my neighborhood.  It is like I have just lost twenty pounds:  it is still the same me, only better. 

“Better?” you are thinking.  "Lauren has no cooktop, no hot water, no shower curtain.  She is nuts."

Sometimes "nuts" and an upside down life beats the status quo.