Moving in was a bit less stressful than moving out, aside from the internet thing (by the bye, a Voice on the Phone says that people will come to break ground for our cables Monday morning at 8. We shall see if it actually happens).
As you can see, possessions were a tad sparse for a bit there…
Prioritehz – we haz them
15 May – the appointed day dawned murky and threatening, which I suppose is what you want for an epic endeavor like an international move, right?
The movers had said they’d be there at 8, traffic permitting, which means “around 10 but you should have pants on by 8 just in case,” a hardship for nightbirds like us. We locked Lilu in the backyard so she couldn’t escape, which meant the movers couldn’t use the back door so we had to unload the Evil Shed, which is why the living room was full of tires and gardening equipment. I’m sure the movers were very impressed (cough *whitetrash* cough).
Based on the spreadsheet we sent them, they thought this truck would hold all our worldly possessions. It sort of did, on the principle of “throw it in the truck and shut the door real fast.” The giant potted palm tree is still in a snit about that. Continue reading
Well, gah. I’ve spent the whole day stirring up dust and packing things that the movers would probably be happy enough to pack for me. There are still a few last-minute things to take care of, like I can’t defrost the freezer until I finish up that ice cream, but that shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. I still feel jittery and restless, like there’s something I’ve forgotten, and I probably should rush around putting more things in bags and boxes, but the Eurovision Song Contest’s first semifinal starts in 12 minutes, so I’m going to watch that instead.
I’ll try to get some pictures of tomorrow’s chaos – not because I expect them to be particularly edifying for you, but because DrBob and I keep asking each other how we did this the last time and neither of us can remember. And it wasn’t even four years ago.
Song du jour of the day: Mama Said, by the Shirelles.
So there was the Final Saturday Stitch n’ Bitch and the Farewell Anna Dinner & Drinks and the Dyeing Party at Jantine’s and Jonna stopped by with a jar of appelstroop (yum) and I went to Fiona’s and sold my bike, so I guess that’s all the goodbyes out of the way. I am working very hard at not feeling sad about leaving, because I need to do useful things and not lie in a corner weeping, but the longer I maintain this fake-out, the more effort it requires. It’s sapping my concentration too, so I find myself staring into space a lot, that’s useful.
The shed’s cleaned out, so now we have a stack of tires in the living room. We’re classy like that. Also? Some power tools.
Tomorrow is the day to do the 10,000 things that I banished to the last minute – you know, can’t pack up the bathroom because we’re still using it, can’t box up the silverware, or the cat’s stuff, or defrost the fridge or clean up my desk because ditto. The local version of Goodwill is coming by tomorrow to take a bunch of stuff – I hope they take it, anyway. Egad, what if they decide it’s too smudged or something? Oh well, tomorrow is also garbage day, so I’ll just put it on the curb.
We’ve known this day was coming for a really long time. How did it manage to sneak up on us like this?
Song du jour of the day: A Change Is Gonna Come, by Sam Cooke.
The Dutch call it “blauwe regen” – blue rain. Pretty, huh? It’s one of my favorite things about the house.
Hi! I’m hoping this new template will prompt me to write nearly-daily, as I keep resolving (and then failing) to do. In the same way wearing my grubby jeans and t-shirt on a sunny day will push me to clean out the garden shed! Which, yeah, this is the 5th day I’ve tried that (NOT the 5th consecutive day, because that would be gross) and the shed remains uncleaned.
The front bedroom, though, is going gangbusters. Of course, to the untrained eye it looks like I’m merely rearranging the mess, but lo, I am rearranging it with purpose. I freakin’ well better be, because the movers are coming in (ulp) eleven days. I’m having a hard time deciding what to do myself and what to leave for them to pack.
In my head I have totally got this – the living room’s done, DrBob’s office is not my problem, so that leaves 11 rooms – one room per day, right? Except I’m not getting one room a day done – it’s taken me weeks to get the room in the photo to that point, and now I have a cold, which is requiring frequent naps. And tomorrow I’ve committed to going to an exhibition in Rotterdam, so that’ll suck up some time. And I have to go see Fiona, but after all that fun I will do Something Useful. Or maybe take a nap.
Song du jour of the day: Let’s Get It Started, by the Black Eyed Peas.
…and DrBob’s gone again! Scampered off to the Deutscher Hispanistentag, the annual conference of Hispanists. He’s not speaking this year, just attending, which makes it something like a vacation for him.
So yeah we went to Heidelberg. Because the Dual Career Service doesn’t just help trailing spouses find jobs, they also provide general settling-in information for out-of-towners. It seems people like to rent to professors and their families, because they expect us to be quiet and unassuming, possessing no more than the usual number of cats and far more than the usual number of books, and therefore disinclined to move around a lot. In our case, they’re not wrong. So the Dual Career lady emailed us about this house in Heidelberg, belonging to a retired Theology professor who now lives in Austria, and DrBob called him and set up a viewing last weekend.
Then, she emailed us about an apartment, spang in the middle of town, with a landlady who didn’t want to give out her number. We gave ours, to be passed to her, and she called DrBob and they set up a second viewing for the same day. Continue reading