This will be my last post here in America:)


Thought you would enjoy a shot of our living room.















The movers come to pack the truck tomorrow. It is an 80' truck. The driver has 2 more pick ups and deliveries to B.C. We are the first pickup and last drop-off as the driver lives about 30 miles from us on the island.


The 4 packers came yesterday. They were nice people but I am sooooo glad I packed most of the valuables myself. All the oil paintings and Persian rugs (the rugs that were not room sized) I packed weeks ago. If you make this kind of move, I would suggest the same. Just watching how they packed glass table tops and shelving left me wishing I had done that as well. They did build decent crates for the antiques. I still did my own padding of the antiques prior to them arriving and am glad for that, as well.

Well, tomorrow night we sleep on the floor. When we wake, we will load our children into the vehicles and be off. Two years of planning, dreaming and hoping has arrived. We are both experiencing gastrointestinal difficulties. It will all be okay.

Talk to you on the other side.

The house is in total disarray. The dining room is the staging area for all box packing. Piles of boxes are broken down flat and stacked against the walls of every room. Bubble wrap, tape, stickers and pieces of cardboard litter the table. I am still in the clothes I wore to the jogging track this morning. I haven't bathed. This morning, feeling a little cheeky, I pulled the cover up haphazardly on the bed, not making it but covering the sheets partially. I feel strangely rebellious over this. There is a stack of laundry that needs to be put away on the wash machine. A fine dusting of white Jack Russell hair has fallen silently on all the glass table tops. I see it, but think I'm too busy to get to it just yet. Diane calls on the way home from work and I send her to the moving company in search of mirror boxes and strapping tape. I crank up 'The Emancipation of Mimi" on the sound system and begin the assemble empty boxes . . .

The phone rings. I think about ignoring it but decide to answer.

"Hello?"
"Mary" Diane sounds a little frantic. "A realtor just called, he is parked out in front of the house with a client. They want to see the house, now."
"WTF?"
"They know we are an appointment only listing, they want to see the house anyway", Diane says.
"What am I supposed to do with the dogs?"
"Just put them in the backyard. They'll just be able to look at the back yard through the window", Diane directs.
"The house is a wreck!! Did you tell the realtor that we are moving. . ." I whine.
"He doesn't care if it is messy." (I hear the doorbell ringing) "Oh, and get my jewelry box and put it away. Also my laptop is in my briefcase and my family jewels that I picked up from the safety deposit box need to bee put away . . .", she continues.
Knock, knock, knock!!!
"Just a minute", I yell in my sweetest, yet frantic voice.

You can guess how it went. The dogs were barking in chorus. The client was asking me questions that I could not hear. Thankfully, years of playing in a punk rock band trained me to read lips to a certain degree. I managed to stuff them all (the dogs) in kennels while the client & realtor looked at the garage (stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes).

The client says, "Ohhh, I don't think we could fit 3 cars in there."
I chime in, "Well, not now, but when all the debris is gone . . .we used to fit 3 cars in there".

The client is in the backyard. He is looking at the pool and asks me if it is heated. The dogs are barking so loudly that I think he has asked if the pool is pitted.

"No. it is in good condition", I explain.

He looks quizzically at the realtor who has the spec sheet on the house. The realtor points out, "It says it is heated, here."

"Oh yes, it is heated", I smile; "There is the heater over there" I point.

"That's what I asked you", the client says.

"Oh, sorry, the barking . . ." Blush.

Since I didn't get the time to put away all the jewels, I followed the realtor and client around upstairs. This did not please the realtor. The client was okay with it.

They left very quickly. The doorbell rings again. I look out the peephole and there is a young woman standing there. Not another one, I think. I open the door.

"Hi, I'm Rosa, I'm here to clean the house . . ."

This is my life.

Bubble wrap, paper and boxes.

Counting the sleeps . . .

My last day of work was Friday. Well, actually I took a sick day Friday so my last day was Thursday. I've been getting up every morning, as if I were going to work, to pack. Today I packed the bar glassware, oil paintings, miscellaneous chach-kas (sp?) and family photo's. Oh my gosh, when this is all over I never want to see bubble wrap again! Diane went to a packing store and got 2 huge rolls of the stuff. And on we go . . .

Diane has been on the phone getting our services turned on at our home in Canada. Trash pick up, recyclables and getting our letters of no-recall on our vehicles. The dogs have received their health certificates from our Vet and the U.S.D.A. Luckily our Vet is a U.S.D.A. certified Vet. We have received our certified copies of our driving records (required).

Tomorrow, I have plans for garment boxes, more dish packs and table lamps. I have an inventory for all our items on an Excel spreadsheet, complete with dollar value (required) and digital pictures (not required but I hope appreciated). We will have a complete inventory down to photos of all our possessions. Each box is tagged with corresponding stickers listing box number, contents with dollar value and digital pictures. The accountant in me is really enjoying the inventory diary of our fixed assets.

Let's see, we have 3 weeks and counting or as the soon to be Canadian in me says, 21 sleeps!