Since my last post, Sally and I traveled from Spokane to the Tri-Cities in southeastern Washington. Our eldest, Megan, has just purchased her first home, and we were happy to help her relocate from her apartment of three years to her new digs. The new house, a three bedroom tri-level, is in a lovely valley at the foot of an orchard covered hillside on Kennewick's south side. We spent the better part of three days helping her pack up and clean out, though in truth, she wound up doing almost all of the cleaning.
Three of Megan's friends, Kyri, Jen and Kristin, came by at various times to help us pack, move, and unpack again. Though Sally and I have moved numerous times and have assisted our three kids in multiple moves as well, I think this was the first time we moved within the same town. This new reality called for a different way of packing. Instead of carefully wrapping individual items to protect them from breakage, we modeled our activities on looting: Our object was to get her stuff out of the apartment and down the street as quickly as possible. As I crammed the entire contents of Megan's master bathroom into one large box, I recalled stories of packers employed by moving companies putting EVERYTHING into boxes, including half-filled wastebaskets and dirty ash trays.
Megan rented a medium-sized U-Haul truck on Friday and Saturday, with the idea of moving her stuff and then picking up some furniture items that some friends had offered. I confess that I thought she had gotten too large a truck, and told her so, but her wisdom was soon borne out. Sally and I loaded the truck once with boxes and furniture. Jen helped us load more large items and boxes for the second trip. A third trip was required to gather the additional furniture donated to Megan by her friends. By Saturday evening I was thankful Megan had rented such a large truck.
Once at the new house we confronted some irritating realtor related realities. In addition to a weird, three-button garage door remote that engaged every time it touched a finger, pocket, or purse, Megan had been given a set of house keys, three of which fit the front door latch and deadbolt. To our vexation, it turned out that we had no keys for the remaining entrances, and the remaining keys on her ring seemed to fit nothing. Unconvincingly playing the locksmith, I changed three doorknobs and three deadbolts so that Megan could access each of the three doors. We also had three new keys made at Lowe's so she could give one to Kristin, give one to Sally and me, and keep extras for herself.
Thanks to good friends, a sound truck, and some helpful people at Lowe's, we had Megan into her new place by Saturday night. Sally and I drove home to Spokane where our cat, Taj Mahal (aka Mr. Cat), and dogs Juni and Cayenne were eagerly awaiting us. Though we felt a bit guilty that we weren't able to help Megan finish cleaning the apartment, we went to bed with sore muscles and full hearts, proud of what Megan is doing, and that all three of our kids are doing so well.