Moving Day 16/08/2020
Nothing like waking up to the sound of rain pelting down on a tin roof, the wind swooshing in against on the windows and the fire cranking out it’s feel good tune in flames and crackle….unless of course it’s moving day. Well the good news is, it’s not my moving day! But still there’s a nagging thought in the back of the fog, that it’s moving day for someone. Oh yeah, that’s right, friends’ house finally sold, finally settled and finally the moons have lined up with the planets and today is their moving day and I am excited for them. So excited I happily volunteer to run the Clean Team. Well not entirely voluntary on my behalf but more of a practical show of support to say “I love you people so much for all the free editing you do for me I want to be able to somehow – in a very small way – repay you for your undying commitment to my unending, unedited and overwhelming projects”.
Bonus! Clean Team only cleans inside where the rains don’t reach. We get to leave the packing, stacking and trekking through the mud to the “Muscle Minions” you know the big blokes with the high heel, and steel capped, waterproof boots, who don’t care about stomping on the carpet. The last comment is rather untrue as I believe they tried their best – it’s just too hard to remove and replace said foot wear while balancing the innards of a queen-sized bed or refrigerator. Note – Innards – the technical term for the secret treasure buried in draws beneath any place one sleeps.
And if I feel this is payback for editing I’m on board, enthusiastic and through. (Insert word for doing the job properly and completely focused on detailed) uses pretty much the same letters as the word crossed out but means something totally different – it’s what editors do.
My No Complaints Sunday, off-sider is into it with hot soapy water, vigour and vinegar, meticulously wiping Venetian blinds one strip at a time from top to bottom and back again, looking for tricky little homonyms and sticky etymological mistakes. They’re everywhere – I scratch five from the back of a bedroom door. One chapter complete apart from the light shade dangling from the centre of the room in an odd way daring me to climb the step ladder and write my name in 23 years of dust. No offence the house isn’t dirty, it’s normal and it’s normal for most of us not to even think about removing a bit dust from a lamp shade. I find out later Master seven used to swing down from the top bunk Tarzan style every time his mum called him out for bananas. Perhaps that’s why the cord is stretched and bare wires exposed just above the lamp holder. I consider this momentarily as I balance myself on my perch with wet rag in one hand and bucket in the other. Not sure if what happened next was a success of failure. The shades clean and I didn’t spill more than a drop of water. And seriously, although a little shocked, I feel good that it’s me sitting here on the floor with my rag plastered up against the far wall looking like an art work from a Tarintino movie, rather than the unsuspecting new resident or child of. Still there’s no power now for the vacuum cleaner and the minions are hassling me about who’s going to buy the coffees now that the electric kettle and the microwave are decommissioned. I want to tell them to go pack their appliances and shove them up the back of their trucks. Clearly, my bravery has saved someone else’s life and I have also proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the mains power trip switch works perfectly and immediately before death arrives. That sentence doesn’t sound right I know but my editor’s very busy directing traffic out off the cul-de-sac so the four wheel drive can back up close enough to attach its winch to the “stuck in the muck” Rent A Truck, bogged out on the front lawn.
Like I always say “it’s the really good things or the really bad things that make an event memorable”
And we won’t be forgetting the house moving for a while or the car accident on the way home, but that’s another story…..
