Just think: This time next week, I'll be in the new place. Moving day is this coming Friday, the day after the day after tomorrow and I suddenly wish I hadn't said it like that.
Saturday is my day to return to the old place and make sure nothing got left behind or, more realistically, get whatever got left behind. Sunday is the day the haul-away guy comes to take away whatever's left. Monday is the day the lady comes for the move-out cleaning. Technically I still have possession of the old place till the following Monday, November 30, but after all that, I doubt I'll be back for anything. There shouldn't be anything left!
Sure, I have to pay all these movers and haulers and cleaners, but I don't have time to do it all. My ethos is shrieking at me about spending the money but it's gotta get done.
Of course, in the meantime there's the matter of packing and can I just say how much I hate it? I hate it SO MUCH you can't imagine. This is why now, with two days left till the movers get here, my house doesn't so much resemble a warehouse full of different sized boxes packed and labeled and organized, as it does something halfway through an episode of "Hoarders", if the hoarding person lived in a cardboard factory. It's highly likely that the movers will have to help me finish packing Friday morning, and I've budgeted accordingly.
The painters have started, and I can already see enough to like it. They just started this afternoon and so far all they've gotten done is the prep work and some of the ceilings, but I'm liking the color and even more the finish. I went with lighter colors for walls and ceiling, and an eggshell finish to bounce the light around a little bit (all the paint there when I bought the place was flat, which seemed to absorb light and which will also come off if you try to clean a smudge), except for the trim which will be semi-gloss. There was a surface crack in the hallway ceiling and they fixed that beautifully - you would never guess it had ever been there! They're totally confident they'll finish on time Thursday, having been reminded by me every thirty minutes that Friday is moving day.
In other news, I must report that the fudge-covered Ritz crackers are good, dammit.
Okay, back to the linen closet clean-out. How the hell did such a tiny closet hold so much stuff??
You know what's cheesy? Cheesy is when you email your legislator in support of a particular bill and you get a canned response that is a wordy way of saying, "I got your letter and I think you're stupid enough not to read between the lines of this reply and see that I have no intention of voting for that legislation."
I fully expected any response I might get to be automated, and I understand that. I'm disappointed but not surprised by the message of the reply itself. But neither of those is the really cheesy part.
The cheesy part is that the Reply address is a brick wall. Click Reply, type a response, click Send, and BAM - "Delivery to the following recipients was aborted after 1 second(s)." followed by the address programmed into the Reply function.
I'm willing to bet that, if my initial email had been in support of something he's already on board with, the Reply function would work.
I'm looking at you, Bob Corker. Pretty cheesy.
You know how you have personal anniversaries or milestones you observe just for you? The kind of thing where gifts aren't appropriate but it still means something to you? That's today for me.
Twenty years ago today I quit smoking. Granted, it was for the second time, but it's the time when it seems to have "taken". I'd quit once before for a couple of years and then, with a group of friends one day, many of whom were smoking, I bummed one. "Just this one." HAH. I should have known better. I am not a "just this one" kind of person. All in. All or nothing, baby, that's me. Go big or go home. If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. Wait, what was I talking about... Oh yeah. My smoking.
So that "just this one" turned into "one more" and then I bought a pack on the way home, and then who was I kidding, I bought a carton, and I was in for a couple more years. I know there are a lot of people out there who can take them or leave them on a situation-by-situation basis, and I envy them. I can't do that.
I tried tapering off, but that didn't work for me. I tried nicotine gum. YECH. Maybe it's better now, but it was its own repellent. Patches weren't readily available yet but probably wouldn't have worked for me either. Nope, cold turkey was The One True Way.
I intentionally didn't tell anyone I was quitting, in case it didn't work. How mature, I know. I ultimately did have to tell my boss when, on about Day Three, he asked me an innocent question about a report I was working on and, in responding, I took on the form of some snarling malevolent entity with fire where my eyes should be and a pit viper for a tongue and a voice that sounded like the love child of a rabid jackal and Mercedes McCambridge in "The Exorcist". He just replied, "...OK..." and left. Moments later, I returned to my body and sought him out to apologize and explain that I had just quit smoking. A smoker himself, he was completely understanding. I got lucky on that one because, if memory serves, there was also some rather foul language in my response.
It's weird to remember having ashtrays on our desks and smoking in the office and in restaurants, etc. It was very "Mad Men". I had this really beautiful ashtray that was on my desk in every job until then. If you've never smoked, you probably can't see ashtrays as "beautiful" but back then they were decor accessories. I remember forcing myself to throw it away, as pretty as it was.
Would I like a cigarette now? Sure, I would love a cigarette now. Will I accept one if offered? No thanks since I know there's no "one" for me. What motivates me more than anything else is that I know I'd want to stop again and I definitely do not want another ride on that particular crazy train.
OK, this is bordering of sounding evangelical and that is so totally not my intent. It's just that I remember wondering on November 14, 1989, what I'd be doing twenty years later and now I know...: blogging about it!
In all the moving frenzy, I was pleased to see that there is a way to do a change of address online. Way to be on the information superhighway, USPS - right?
So I fill the form out, just a few fields really, all very reasonable, and click to go to the next page. That is where I discover it's going to cost me a dollar on a credit card to use this service. ::grumble:: But alright, fine. It's worth a dollar to have this part behind me. I enter all the credit card information and click to go to the next page.
The next page is an "opportunity" for me select merchants I would like to receive offers from. In other words, I'm asked to opt in for junk mail. Having fought the unwinnable fight to stop junk mail at every address I've ever had, I snort derisively and mutter something like, "Yeah, right." and click on the "No, thanks" button and go to the next page.
The next is another collection of "opportunities" for me to select merchants from whom I would like to receive coupons and "special offers". How strange -- they're the same merchants as before. I scroll down for the "No, thanks" button but... there isn't one.
My only two choices are "Get all" or "Get selected". There is no way to opt out if I want to continue the process. I try clicking "Get selected" although I haven't checked any, and I get blocked with a message that I must select at least one. So... basically the USPS has hijacked its own process and I can't finish changing my address unless I agree to accept junk mail for specified merchants. And of course they already have my dollar. It's just a dollar but it's starting to have some significance in principle.
Then I get home and, in cleaning out my mailbox, I find even more stuff in there than usual. Going through it, I find NINE pieces of mail clearly addressed to four different homes on my street, none of them mine, everything from junk mail (!) to bills. And then -- and THEN -- I find the day's junk mail which includes four, count 'em, four copies of the same glossy magazine, none of which have anyone's address on them. Apparently my mailman just had a stack of them and crammed a handful of them into my mailbox.
It was very satisfying.
I just called AT&T to move my home phone service to the new place next week. After confirming I can keep my existing number (had been pretty sure I could -- only moving about 5 miles within the same zip code), I was very specific: "I don't want to make any changes at this time. NO CHANGES AT THIS TIME. Move it JUST LIKE IT IS."
After answering the requisite questions to prove I'm me and will still be me at the new address, I was asked to hold, after which the lady came back and said everything's all set, and that she had given me a different bundle and...
ANNOYED! ANNOYED! Was I not clear enough that I wanted NOTHING CHANGED AT THIS TIME? Which part of that failed to get through?
See, someone I know well just moved a couple of months ago and decided to make changes to her AT&T service at the time of the move, and it turned out to be a huuuuuge clusteryouknowtherestofthatword, with AT&T unable and/or unwilling to do what they'd said they'd do, calls to them requiring 45 minute hold times, financial incentives that mysteriously vanished after she signed up, etc. Well. That was more than enough for me to decide to move my AT&T stuff exactly as is, which is why I was annoyed with the proclamation of having been put into a different bundle.
But wait a minute. As I was gearing up for a snippy-fit, the lady proceeded to enumerate the features of the bundle, and it sounds like my monthly bill will drop by 25% or so. And I'll keep all my existing services including Ringmaster which I really like, plus get free unlimited long distance (which I have to admit would be nice in order to keep from running down my cell phone battery in gabfests with friends in other states).
So, if I later rant that AT&T has well and truly hosed my service in the process of moving it to the new address, I'll only have to look at this post to remind myself that I didn't stand my ground. Not standing my ground is something that's not like me. Let's find out whether I'll regret it.
There's another thing I want to do in the move, that I may have to just be annoyed about and then put on my big-girl panties and get over it: I want a glider. I have wanted a glider outside the front of my house for ages and ages. Now I'm going to have a perfect place for one. And thanks to CraigsList, I've found one that would be perfect at a price I'm comfortable with. It all sounds positively halcyon, no? Can't wait!
BUT! Not so fast there, Ms. New-Condo-Owner. It turns out that putting such things on the lawn is not routinely permitted in this development. Nope. It interferes with cutting the grass (which I am happy to report is THEIR responsibility). I'm perfectly welcome to put it on my back patio but, as nice as the patio is and as much as I look forward to enjoying it, part of its charm is its privacy. The view I want to view from the glider can only be viewed from the front yard.
It's annoying, but I knew it was a condo when I signed all those papers and that I wouldn't be totally unfettered in what I can do to the outside part. So I have to submit a variance, sort of a mother-may-I form, to the Board of Directors which will convene next week to review such requests. I'm not optimistic, but it's worth a shot. If they say no, then I'll have to decide whether I want to go ahead and put it in back on the patio.
But really, between these two views for serenely gliding back and forth, wouldn't you prefer the one from the front yard?
As of last night, the punchlist of things I needed/wanted to get done at the new place before I move in is significantly shorter!
The guys I used, C and B, were highly recommended to me by several people. Even though they turned out to charge maybe a little bit on the high side, their work was totally worth it. Nothing fazed them and they got everything done and cleaned up after themselves. I KNOW, right??
So here's what's been done:
- The tub in the master bathroom was draining slowly. All of us presumed it was an accumulation of ... well, you know, the stuff that accumulates in bathroom drains, but it turned out not to be that at all. You know the toggle switch you flip up to keep water in the tub and down to drain it? Even when the toggle was in the open position, the little flappy thing under the drain wasn't opening all the way. Fixed? Check.
- Replace front door weather stripping? Check.
- Install gooseneck showerhead in master bath? Check.
- Re-place outdoor outlet that was sort of hanging out of the brick wall? Check.
- Install ceiling fan in master bedroom? Check. This was even more of a hassle than it would normally be because there had never been a light in that ceiling. He had to do into the attic and wire that up.
- Re-wire the switch by the master bedroom door so it now controls the ceiling fan and not the wall outlets which are now always hot like the others? Check.
- Raise 6 bi-fold doors by about this much so they don't drag on the brand new carpet every time they're opened/closed? Check.
- Fix the overhead light in the garage that didn't work? Check.
- Fix a floor lamp switch that didn't work (a "while you're here" thing)? Check.
Seeing that thing start to open as I approach still makes me giggle like I'm getting away with something. The idea of not having to go into the rain and/or snow and/or [insert inclement weather of choice here] similarly fills me with a feeling that someday someone's going to realize what's going and put a stop to that luxury.
Since the garage door is original to the house from 1988, I was braced for the worst -- that I'd have to replace the whole thing. But wait!! Home Depot sold me an aftermarket thing that's just a new receiver/sensor and remote. That's all well and good but I had no clue how to install that. So I handed it to C and B and asked them if we could arrange for them to install it some other time. Their response: "Why not now?" Ten minutes later, I heard that lovely sound: Clunk, whirrrbumprrrrrbumprrrr, thunk. Back in business!
I did manage to resist the temptation to sit in the car in the driveway and then from different places up and down the street and click the new clicker, just to watch it work again.
Ah, but not EVERYthing got done. There's a hairline surface crack in the sheetrock in the hall ceiling that needs to be remudded and taped and painted. And the trim - things like door frames, windows, and baseboards - could use a new coat of paint. I had no freaking idea how expensive it is to get things painted!! Holy crap, I'm in the wrong line of work, seriously! It was all I could do not to openly guffaw at the two estimates I've gotten so far. I'll get one or two more, but have almost decided that the painting is something I can do without for quite some time.
BUT. We now have identifiable progress!! We have no boxes packed yet, though. Note to self: Must start packing. Moving day is two weeks from tomorrow.
My niece teaches 4th grade. Today, she reported, she gave them a spelling test. One of the words was "bankrupt". One kid spelled it wrong but it was all she could do to not give him points for grasping the concept so well, in light of what's happening to so many people in the economy lately: B-A-N-K-R-A-P-E-D
I knew Tanya for just a few months a loooong time ago when I worked with her on a college project, but she had a profound effect on me. We communicated on a level I'd never thought possible, and it changed the way I thought about some important things.
The project lasted one spring semester, and I spent a few hours with her every other day during that time. At the end of the semester, I went home for summer break. When I went back for the next fall semester, she and her family had moved to another city and I completely lost touch with them.
Many years later, I watched a TV show that made me really start thinking about her again but I've been unable to locate her or her family since I've forgotten their last name. I'll never forget Tanya, though.
Tanya was a chimp. I taught her sign language.
I was double-majoring in psychology and sociology. At the beginning of that semester, I was approached by the head of the department who said, "There's a study going on here in [Big City] involving a very young chimp living with a human family. We've been trying to find someone who could help her build her language and [Dr. X] just told me you know American Sign Language. Interested?"
WAS I EVER!
Tanya was about two years old and, aside from obvious differences (body hair and strength to name a couple), she was a lot like a human two-year-old (louder too, but not by much). She was insatiably curious, sweetly affectionate, quick to learn. We even had a moment of "terrible twos" when I walked in one day and she bared her teeth at me. Not knowing what that meant, I did it back to her, causing her to shriek and run to her human mother's arms. I apologized profusely, but the mother said I'd done exactly the right thing: Baring her teeth was a challenge to my authority and when I did it back to her, I'd reasserted myself and she knew it. She didn't stay scared/mad for long, and in a few minutes we were playing and signing again. That was the only moment of unpleasantness the whole semester.
Just as with a two-year-old human, most of her vocabulary had to do with things she wanted -- apple, tickle, blocks -- and with people's names -- Mom, Dad, Jan. As with a two-year-old human, my job was to build that vocabulary and keep her intrigued and interested in new words. I remember we'd started on simple verbs near the end of the semester -- come, go, eat, play.
A lot of people have heard of the first chimp known to have learned ASL, Washoe, who died in 2007 after teaching her "adopted" chimp-kids signs too. You may have also heard of Koko, the gorilla who signed who adored her kitten she called All-Ball and who clearly grieved when All-Ball died.
You may or may not not have heard of a man named Roger Fouts who has been involved in this work for many many years. If you ever get a chance to see an old recording of Fouts reuniting with a chimp named Booie, after not seeing one another for 20y ears, watch it, and have a tissue nearby. There is no question Booie knows Roger immediately, calling him by his name sign, and begins signing even though he's had no one to sign with for all that time. I've looked on YouTube and Google but can't find the recording; it's out there, though.
About 12-15 years ago, I wrote to Fouts, explaining my involvement with Tanya, and I heard back from him several weeks later. Unfortunately, he was unable to find any records of her. The project she was part of wasn't his so all he had to go on was my info which was sadly sketchy. It's entirely possible she's still alive. Well-cared-for chimps can live into their 50s and beyond, so maybe...
Her human parents had told me they were making plans even then for a good place for her to live after she got a little older. The expression "not knowing their own strength" could apply to chimps, or maybe it's just that the human world is pretty flimsy stuff when exposed to chimps. Regardless, combine that strength with maturation, and it was obvious from the outset she couldn't live with them forever. They seemed intent on finding a good place for her where she'd be safe and happy and cared for by people who would continue to communicate with her -- and hopefully teach sign language to other chimps. I'll never know but it's nice to think about.
What a thrill that was, even more than I fully appreciated while I was doing it - intelligent meaningful communication with another species. Portable video cameras weren't around then, and may not have even been conceived of yet. I can't believe I was so foolish that I didn't even get any photos. I do have the memories, though, and they remind me of what a privilege it was.
<--Thanks to Ambookgeek for posting this photo from a National Geographic story, showing a group of chimps attending -- in every sense of that word -- the burial of one of their friends.
I've decided to shift my moving day up from the Monday of Thanksgiving week to the Friday before that, to be sure there's enough time to finish the clean-out/clean-up of the old place, before November 30.
*I* have decided this but have not yet informed the moving company. Probably need to do that really soon.
I did get the water, electricity, and gas at the new place transferred to my name. I still have yet to arrange that for the phone service or cable. The cable thing is strange but in a good way. The condo association provides basic cable TV. I have to find out what I need to do to get internet and fill in whatever gaps there may be between whatt hey provide and what I'm used to. I meant to take a small TV over today to see whether the basic cable is already/still there, but didn't manage to get that done.
This weekend, I acquired a couple of things for the new place, both from CraigsList. One is a lamp that is a perfect match for one I already have. It arrived yesterday. Today I put a bulb in it and ... nothing. I called the woman I bought it from to make sure the switch was supposed to work the way I thought it was, and she assured me it should work like I thought it would. I think it got chowed in transit because the stick you turn is at a weird angle. She offered to bring me my money back but I only paid $10 for it, and I think I know someone who can fix it. Besides, we met in a parking lot for the hand-off, so it could have gotten damaged by either one of us.
I also scored a sleeper sofa and it seems brand new! The people I bought it from live about 45 minutes away and drove it over to me in their truck this morning and brought it into the second bedroom. I'm so psyched -- I've wanted to have a room where someone could comfortably sleep when visiting, instead of piling up on the living room couch, and this looks perfect. The sofa itself looks pristine with no tears, no stains, no smells, nothing, and the mattress in the fold-out is still in its plastic bag! They made me a GREAT price on it and I paid them 20% more for delivering it.
After they left, I flopped down on it and am happy to report it has superior floppage. There is one accessory I need to buy before the actual move. I need a slipcover or a king-sized sheet or something to put over it because the cats will surely claim it as theirs. If I keep it covered, then it will look/be good for company when needed. I think I'll also buy a flat of "egg crate" because, as nice as it is, and IT IS, it's still a fold-out.
Wouldn't it be great if I could report that everything is packed up and ready to move? Wouldn't that be totally amazing? Why, yes, yes it would, but it's not EVEN. I have NOT ONE box packed. What am I waiting for? ...That's not rhetoric. Seriously, what the hell am I waiting for??
Everybody, I have bought a condo!!
Although there were those who picked up on nuances of posts here or in Twitter (looking at you, Darci!), I decided not to talk about it, not overtly anyway, until it was a done deal, and now . . . it is!
I started looking around back in the summer. I decided that I wanted to take advantage of the perfect storm going on at the moment for first-time home buyers (I bought a place before but it was so long ago that it doesn't count!), the perfect storm being historically low interest rates, low home prices, and the $8,000 rebate for buyers who close before November 30. I wanted to take advantage of that but decided early on to be detached about it, not to let my emotions make a decision.
The very first place I decided to see in person snared me. I reeeeally liked it, but their asking price was (put your hand, palm down, in front of you, about 6" above your head) about there, and the top of my price range was (lower your hand to about your nose) there. I made them a very low-ball offer (put your hand at about your chest level) to see how they'd counter. When their counter-offer was a mere squeak, I knew we'd never meet in the middle, so I kept looking.
Weeks and weeks passed, and then one day my agent called me and said, "Guess what." It turned out the selling agent for that very first place had been calling him, pushing him/us to counter. He'd told her we did -- "no thanks" -- and urged her to tell HER client to re-counter if they were serious. And that's what they'd done.
Remember where your hand was on my maximum? OK. Now put your hand at your chest level for my lowball offer. Then drop your first hand to just below shoulder level, and that's how far they dropped their price on their re-counter. In other words, they had re-countered just a tiny bit over my original lowball offer, which was a MAJOR price reduction! "Yes please!"
From what I've learned, it had been on the market since January and they were just ready to get out from under. Apparently it had been owned by a "little old lady" who had lived there for 15 years before her health began to fail and she'd moved in with family. The actual seller was her son, who had power of attorney.
The inspection went well. Several things were found that should/could be addressed, but nothing that interfered with the sale, created safety problems, or anything like that. Almost all of it was stuff that, if it happened after you were already living there, you'd think, "I need to take care of that one of these days." We sent them the whole list as the repair counter, not expecting much, and that's what we got. The only thing they agreed to fix was a faulty gate handle going out from the patio, and that was probably just because it was a safety issue. That's okay -- their new price was so low I was more than willing to accept that. I can get all of it fixed for probably $1000 or less. It's totally "move-in ready".
Then at closing I learned that it had appraised for even more than their very first asking price (when your hand was 6" above your head). The sellers had closed a couple of hours earlier at another location, so the title lady at closing was comfortable saying that she hadn't seen that for a LONG time in this market.
The closing, in fact, was just yesterday! Woohoo!!! From there, I went straight to the new place to meet the guy there to change all the locks. Then my family came over to see the inside and made all the right exclamations. Just having them there for those few minutes made it begin feeling like home, despite the complete lack of anything of mine in it yet.
The new place is about 1400 square feet (about twice the size of where I am now), all on one beautifully flat level which was a prerequisite, given my knees. It has two bedrooms, two baths, and a "bonus" room (I now understand that a "bonus" room is a space that has no immediately discernible intended purpose) which could be a den or a formal dining room or even an office area. I plan to use the second bedroom as my office, but will also put a sleeper sofa in there for company. Not sure what to do with the bonus room; at the start, it will probably be move-in central, where boxes go till they're unpacked.
Oh! And it has a GARAGE! I have NEVER in my whole life EVER had a garage. It's only a one-car garage but that's okay; I only have one car. See how the universe balances things out? ;) There's also room for another car in the driveway and there are "cut-ins" all around the development for visitors to park. It has W/D connections AND A DISHWASHER - something else I'm not used to having! It has a small but really cool patio in back surrounded by a half-high stone wall and a fence above that. VERY private. So I've started trolling CraigsList, etc., for patio furniture. And CLOSETS! A walk-in in the master, and double folding door closet in the second bedroom, and a bigger than average hall/coat closet, and a linen closet! The places I've lived the past 10 years have been most unsatisfactory closet-wise, but I think I've broken that cycle.
My unit is on the end so I get a small side yard and across the street from that is an undeveloped hill that's apparently owned by a nearby church who maintains it nicely. Since the unit itself is a condo, I don't have to worry about yard maintenance! Each unit is a duplex; I haven't met my new next-door neighbor yet but want to introduce myself before long.
Will the monthly mortgage note be more than the monthly rent I've been paying? Yep, but that doesn't say as much about the mortgage as about the fact that my landlord hasn't raised my rent since I moved in here in 2004. If he'd been making reasonable raises each year, I'd probably be paying a little more in rent than the new note. I've been happy renting here from landlord and won't enjoy giving him my notice. ...but I'll do it, "on or before" November 1.
And that's my Big News!! The movers are scheduled for the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I've already had the water, electricity, and gas put in my name. I've begun collecting boxes, and am still living in that happily deluded state of "I've got PLENTY of time to pack!"
(Panic will set in later.)
