The move to Seattle marked my fifth move in about 7 years, a fact duly noted to the movers, current/former co-workers (especially those around for any number of my previous moves), my "I've moved again" list of family/friends and anyone else that could possibly or not care to know that little factoid. I thought my count was on the high end, although Robby noted that he and his family have had five addresses in two years, Rudy replied with a sarcastic "sheesh, novice" and of course, Aimee, married to a military man, has built her entire adult life (even pre-military) around moving.
Despite best intentions and plans, moving is always painful. While I enjoyed letting others pack my apartment, there were a few unintended consequences. All belongings were packed with the maximum amount of paper - nine packing boxes of varying sizes stuffed with paper were returned to the movers, and that was after I'd kept two large boxes for the next move (and yes, I kept almost all of my packing boxes). While the paper provided protection (including non-breakables such as books and DVDs), the sheer volume of paper was a bit difficult - what to do with the paper while unpacking?
The movers also made a few stupid mistakes, such as packing heavy items on top of lighter items; a few rolls of wrapping paper bit the dust and the pristine Star Wars Lego Collectors Edition set box is no longer so pristine. Because the move happened so quickly, I didn't have much time to sort through stuff, and as I unpacked, Goodwill boxes were filled. (This situation is also helped by the fact that my bedroom closet is smaller and I decided to move my desk into the living room closet, thus limiting clothes/storage space). While unpacking, I didn't really know what I was going to find, an experience that was a combination of frustration and Christmas.
Almost everything I own left my home in San Francisco, reappearing six weeks later at my new home in Seattle. Effectively, this meant that I had no control, and without eyes to watch, my possessions were not always treated with the best of care. Both very nice living room lamps have been damaged beyond repair. The newly refinished top of my Grandma's cedar chest is scratched; although the movers promised that it would remain wrapped in blankets until delivery, I suspect the blankets were removed along the way. A bed castor was broken off (and if you know what a castor is, you are way ahead of me). The formerly pristine feet on chair/couch/ottoman are scuffed. A Riedel glass broke (funny, same thing happened the previous move, but that was because while carrying a bag containing two Reidels out of the house, I tripped and fell. In front of the movers. One of my more spectacular falls in my long history of falling in front of others. New friends and colleagues, keep an eye out - someday, I'm going to step on an errant tator tot and take a little tumble). A cheap champagne glass broke. My cute fish platter from Hawaii split in half.
After two weeks, my apartment is no longer in the "just moved in stage", but rather, "a bit messy "hat always precedes the "finally settled stage". It's nice to be in my own home again, surrounded by my own belongings. I can finally cook again - already, I've made vegetable stir-fry (from the latest issues of Cooks, yum!) and pizza.
Jill got it right � the last time I moved, she sent a bouquet of flowers with a note saying �I hope the next time you move it�s to little ol� Seattle.� And here I am!