I DID IT non-fiction

I did it. Finally got the FOR SALE sign up. Talked it over quickly with my wife, she agreed. Whew. Actually it took three days of coaxing. Thought I put my finger in the socket for rushing things.

My job phased out, sad, after twelve years. Time to move on. Thought I’d like to move across the country. Far away from here, and the “Sorry, it’s not the way I wished it to happen.” Got to try something different, I figure, same as my bozo friends who tried it years ago. Now I’m the bozo. They’re doing okay now, I guess. My turn.

Never mind our kids thoughts on the situation. I’m paying the bills. Well, it wasn’t really like that, a lot of crying and screaming about the situation though. Got a little savings to carry us for a couple of months. Sorry kids, it’s hard on us too.

I used to be a big cheese until new bosses bought us out, severance package not so much. Kind of sudden, and not a pension plan to expect after good years. Medicine bills and glasses to be covered by ourselves, until we get settled, get into a new Benefit Plan.

Call movers to get prices for the moving. Tips involved? Discuss delivery dates, insurance costs, get stacks of packing boxes, ask for friendly help to package household items, tape needed for boxes, give away extras, neighbors nosy. “What’s happening they ask?” Too embarrassing to answer honestly, besides, none of their beeswax.

Some movers send a rep to check out the weight. I thought they charged by the number of boxes, and some of mine are horribly large. My wife tried to tell me, “It’s the weight.” Should have dumped half my books, especially the ones I haven’t read for ten years. Looked good in my library though.

“What kinds of guarantee do you give to deliver on time?” I ask each visitor who rumbles through our house. Then finally the right company is selected and they put these blue stickers on everything, especially on the beautiful mahogany wood. Why don’t they stick it on the glass mirror? I wonder.

The day arrives. Movers come at nine o’clock to load, instead of eleven as planned. We’re still in the middle of our neighborly good-bye breakfast. Got to move cars out of the driveway, clear the tables, as three burly men tramp in, boots heaving across the rug not yet covered with plastic. I promised the new owners there would not be a spot on the rugs.

Money is exchanged with the company, new address given, telephone numbers to contact in both directions. We’re ready to leave at the same time. The truck is almost a block long with our possessions. Our car ZOOMS after the truck. We’re going to meet almost 1,500 miles away. Bye friends. Bye house. Bye furniture. Hope to see you one day, I hope.

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© 2007-2009 Richard L. Provencher
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