Lake Forest: moved

 

I was seriously depressed Friday evening.  I don’t know why clutter and too many possessions depresses me, but they do, and Friday evening this place was a mess.  In addition to the furniture that had been carried up, more than thirty big, some of them very big, cardboard boxes filled the spare bedroom and overflowed the kitchen area.  This move was more difficult than the one of living and dining room furniture from Evanston to Hilton Head because the buildings in both Evanston and Hilton Head have elevators and because a lot more was moved from Evanston to Lake Forest where we have the second floor of a two story building that is reached only by narrow, steep, twisting stairs.

I rode the train up Friday morning to accept delivery of a reclining chair Carol had ordered and the self-install internet kit from Comcast.  Carol remained at Evanston awaiting the movers who said they would arrive between 9 and 11.  They arrived at 11 and packed until 3:30.  Carol telephoned me with concern.  There were three of them.  A man in his 50s, a young woman and a young man.  All spoke Spanish.  Only the older man said much in English.  None appeared to be very strong and we knew how difficult the stairs are and the weight of some of the furniture that would have to be carried up.  In this instance appearances were deceiving.  While the older man often paused gasping between loads, they did it, and all had been transferred without damage to goods or building from truck to the unit by 6:30.  I could not have done it, not just now when I am old.  They were beasts of burden.  I have been a beast of burden to boats, but I doubt I could ever on my best day have done the labor they did that afternoon.  We thanked them sincerely and tipped them I hope more than they expected.

However after they left, there was all this stuff.  Looming.

We walked to a nearby Fresh Market where we bought cooked ribs, mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts and a bottle of wine with a screw top, which we took back to the war zone for dinner.  

The boxes were marked with an indication of contents.  We located a banket, sheets and pillows and fell into restless sleep.

By Saturday evening I was no longer depressed.  Enough order had been imposed so that the place was livable.  This was mostly Carol’s work, but then it had to be because most of the stuff is hers.  I unpacked six boxes of books and issues of magazines which contain articles I have written.  I was willing to dispose of all of this, having gone over the bookshelves before we drove to Hilton Head and taking along ten books I wanted to keep, including copies of my own, but it did not happen.

Sunday morning Carol drove us back to Evanston where we spent three and a half hours cleaning.  The place looked odd empty.  When we departed we left our keys behind.  We signed fifteen or twenty legal documents last week in an attorney’s office.  The closing is tomorrow.

This is a nice place.  There are front and rear stairs.  Both difficult requiring me with my deficient depth perception to cling to the hand rails for dear life. The building faces east.  The interior is divided in half length wise with the half facing south an open space of kitchen area, dining, living.  There are lots of windows at the east end and on the south side providing lots of sunlight.  The north half holds two bedrooms and two bathrooms.  

It is conveniently located near the town center.  Markets, shops, the post office and the train station are within a few blocks, and this morning after Carol drove to the office she called to report that she made it door to door in twelve minutes.  From Evanston it took about an hour and a half each way.  This is life changing and the point of the move.

There is still some clutter and unpacked boxes, all now confined to the spare bedroom out of immediate sight.  The photo was taken from my seat on the convertible sofa that used to be in the guest bedroom in Evanston.  Carol put the bamboo plant on the mantel just to get it out of the way, but it looks good there and will stay.  If it survives for two more years—and it is admirably tenacious—we will take it with us on the final drive to Hilton Head.  

I take solace in that Carol and I are agreed that when she retires only what fits in her SUV goes to Hilton Head.  All the rest of this debris is sold, given away or dumped and I will be free.  Free, I say.  Free.