I am, again, participating in one of the most taxing athletic events a person can partake in moving.
Pack-and-move, pack-and-move it sounds like something an offensive line coach should yell to his beef-eater linemen during practice.
I guess my fiancée is kind of a coach she likes to tell me what to do so that fits in with the idea that the process of moving is an athletic event, but at least she is participating in the drills as well.
Having lived in three different states and at twice as many addresses, I am a veteran mover, but I’m getting tired of doing it.
That’s why this move will be the last move for some time. I am moving into a house that I will actually own, meaning I can, finally, take everything out of the Sysco french fry boxes and plastic totes that served as temporary homes for most of my stuff for over a decade.
In a week or two, I will not be limited to wondering how all the sports memorabilia I’ve collected over the years will look hanging on a wall someday, I will actually be able to look at it hanging on a wall.
When I wrote this column, my Maple Plain apartment looked like a carpeted warehouse with the pile of filled cardboard boxes sitting in the living room. Maybe it’s a sign of old age, or maybe I’m just tired of packing, but I couldn’t help but wonder why I have so many books. Have I ever heard of a library?
At $20 a book, how much money could I have saved by getting a library card?
“Dishes,” “pharmaceuticals” (all legal), “linens,” “electronics” and of course the mysterious “miscellaneous” are Sharpied onto the boxes, which, the more and more I stare at them, are looking more garage sale-worthy than new house-worthy.
I officially became a homeowner Tuesday afternoon, and went right to work on the house. The house was in great shape, so not much needed to be done in preparation for moving in a vacuum and a gallon of spider killer did the job.
A fresh coat of paint on the walls in several rooms, and the place will be custom made for yours truly.
The move is to a house in Delano, so I will now be a resident of the town I work in, which is awesome.
I am excited about having my own place. There will be no more apartment with floor-pounding neighbors. I, now, have a yard that I can actually mow, and I finally have my man room my clubhouse, if you will.
The clubhouse will be the finished basement. It’s big, so the memorabilia I mentioned earlier will have plenty of space to finally breathe.
I don’t have the standard big screen television that belongs in a sports room yet, but that will come someday.
I don’t care about that right now, all I care about is being able to have guests over to watch the Twins or Vikings without having to borrow one of the dining room table chairs.
I can keep those chairs upstairs, and have guests plop their backsides on the sofa in the basement clubhouse.
My days in my own personal clubhouse are not quite here yet, I still have to play the game of moving in.
That consists of deadlifting couches, and scaling one flight of stairs over-and-over until all the boxes and furniture are out of the apartment. Then, I and my helpers will have to repeat the process in the opposite motion, carrying everything from the vehicles to the new house.
If the joy over the thought of me finally having a house isn’t enough incentive for my helpers, a few adult beverages (standard for any move) and slices of pizza should keep everyone moving.
Those helpers should also think of the great workout they are getting by helping me move. Believe me, most of them need a good workout.