On Thursday afternoon, I was on the phone to one contractor and BD was on the phone to another, while the new fridge was being delivered. It’s been that sort of week, known to everyone who’s ever moved, I suppose.
We’ve met with the painter, the gas-fireplace installer, the landscaper, the general contractor, and had a plumber in to investigate a leak. Of all of them, we have the quote from the painter, and have given him the go-ahead. We’re still waiting to hear from the cupboard-painter (apparently this is a specialized skill, different from painting walls and trim), and are waiting for a quote for replacing the shower in the master bedroom en-suite. We’ve chosen the style for the fireplace. The two shrubs which block the human door to the garage and one of the ventilation vents are scheduled to be removed.
At the other end, BD and the home inspector went through the current house on Friday, looking for the make-or-break flaws. Surprisingly, there were not too many: most of which BD has already repaired. It’s a quirky century house, and it’s not going to attract anyone who is looking for a new build, but there will be a buyer out there somewhere. I think up real estate ads in my head: ‘Century home, many original features. Four hundred square foot third floor with potential for private master bedroom or nanny suite. Backs on to conservation land: watch deer and foxes from the sun-room, while wild turkeys, grouse, and more come to the feeders.’ All true. Is it enough to make someone overlook the fact the original features include most of the windows, and the basement that, even with a sump pump, is on the wetter side of damp during spring thaw? Well, we did, twenty-two years ago. Someone will.
Meanwhile I cull and pack, a few boxes at a time. Today I did the bathroom, resulting in two boxes of supplies that can be moved immediately into the new house’s bathrooms, and the open shelves that support my desk. That produced two more boxes that will go to the new house’s basement for storage for now, a large bag of garbage, and eight empty wicker baskets. Yesterday I cut the grass here (a task I will NOT miss) (well, actually I finished cutting it – I started it Wednesday, and for the first time in all the years I’ve been using an electric mower, I ran over the cord. With a new plug and a slightly shorter cord, I finished it yesterday) and loaded all the garden art into my car. Today I found new places for the various pieces, at least for now: I need to see how the new garden changes over the seasons before I know if I’ve placed them correctly.
I’ve met two of our new neighbours, nice people both; waved to a lot more as I drive and bike in and out. I have, as I planned, gone birding every morning but one, biking from the house to the Arboretum. Friday I biked to the grocery store and the butcher. The move progresses, not always smoothly, but we move forward. That, I think, is the best I can ask – or hope – for.