Commotion in the Pews

Many of you have moved. If nothing else, you moved from your mother’s womb to a new place when you were born. Some of you never really did, but that’s the topic of another blog.

Your next big move probably came as a child. Another kid came along, or you were the other kid, and Mom and Pop decided that two bedrooms weren’t going to cut it. So you got a bigger house.

Odds are that you stayed there until you:

1. Joined the military and Uncle Popcorn provided a nice new place for you.
2. You went to college and practiced all the stuff your preacher told you not to do.
3. Your parents announced that since you had finished high school, were of legal age, and had no special needs requiring you to stay home, you had two months to get a job and get gone.

Let us presume that you did the above. Your next move was likely a simple one. You didn’t have much stuff after college or the military, and if you got booted from the family home you most likely struggled to acquire stuff but mainly spent money on staying fed. This next move was probably in with a roomie, a new spouse, or just a place where the bill collectors couldn’t find you as easily. It was a four hour move, close to home and done in the back of your crappy Prius and your friend’s beater of a pickup. (Military members had their crap delivered by Uncle Sam as a farewell present for their service, so that one is a bit different.)

More likely than not, you settled into this next place for a long time. Decades perhaps. You may have moved early on, but probably not very far and with the help of your still vibrant and strong friends. I will, however, bet that most of you made “The Big Move” around age 30 and then stayed there for decades.

That was us. When we got out of the Navy, we moved back to Minnesota and the Navy dropped our crap in Eagan at an apartment. We stayed there 3 years and moved to Saint Paul. That was where we were going to be at the end of time. The move was fairly easy, and we got it done in a few weeks: we overlapped mortgage and rent to allow us to paint and stuff.

Fast forward 30 years and we have the story for today. We had had enough of the People’s Republic of Minnesota, the lockdown, the terrible winters, and yearned for brighter days. (I am writing this from the Lanai (expensive back porch) of my new home, which makes for brighter days.)

Thus the move to Florida. We bought a house without ever seeing it, and contracted for movers and car shippers. We had, we thought, really done a good job whittling down the amount of junk we’d take with us. We knew there’d be no attic, and no basement. Those are ancient Mesopotamian words for “storage space without consequences.” For five months we ruthlessly combed the house and donated literal truckloads of stuff to the Salvation Army. We filled the trash and recycle cans each week (and those of our neighbors – with their consent) and smiled broadly with our amazing accomplishments.

Here we give a caution: you didn’t get even close to all of it. Start over. Eye every shirt, pair of pants, little figurine, coffee mug, decorative blanket, and ream of office paper. Throw ½ of it out before you move. Otherwise you pay someone to lug it across the country so you can throw it out somewhere else. We did that upon arrival (yes, I know, this is not chronological) and have so far donated 3 SUV loads of stuff to the Salvation Army in Florida. Seriously, be utterly ruthless. I had so much cold-weather gear left that I could have outfitted a Norwegian Special Forces team for work above the Artic Circle. I now have 2 full sets in the event I go back to snow shoe race down the road. I also have just 2 pairs of snow shoes – I managed to give all the others away before leaving. The point is, you have too much crap and if you haven’t worn it in the last year, you should donate it. Same with that coffee mug your employer gave out during the 4^th name change 4 years ago: you don’t need it.

Once you have done that, hire movers to box all your stuff and move it. Trust me, at anything above age 50 you don’t need the hassle of packing. Do, however, pack the really important stuff like computers and printers (with the cables) so you can identify the boxes immediately upon arrival. Put all your important papers in a backpack and never let them out of your sight.

Before the movers arrive, remove all trash from your house and put it in the backyard where nobody can mistake it for anything vital. We had our trash make a special appearance in Florida. I should have planned that better.

Next, go around your house with that Crown Royal bag on your liquor shelf and remove all the knobs and handles from everything you own. Screw the screws into the knob or handle and deposit them in the bag. This will be going in the car with you to your new home. If you do not do this, the movers will move them for you. You will spend two weeks unpacking EVERY SINGLE THING YOU HAVE just to find the knobs to your computer desk.

In a larger bag, round up all your remote controls and wireless devices. You will need these when you arrive. You will be so sick of unpacking crap that you will want to watch those DVDs you put in the coffee maker box – which also went in your car – so you can sit down in your living room and watch old episodes of MONK, or a Sinatra movie. You will still be surrounded by junk and boxes, but you will be able to do something other than unpack at night when the lights are not yet installed in the ceiling.

Make up a box of small tools you will need. A wire cutter, electrical tape, zip ties, some screw drivers and a few wrenches (or a vice grip, which does many things including hammer.) You will need them all, and a couple you didn’t pack – so pack a Leatherman to be sure.

Now, put a sign up outside each room with a number. This number is the number of the room where you want the stuff to go when it arrives at your new home. So, room 3 and 1 might be adjacent in your current home, but set apart at the new place – the new place counts.

Clean everything somewhat. Not spotless, for it will pick up paper dust on the wrapping expedition. But get the dust bunnies off the rug – they will otherwise be rolled in for inspection upon arrival – and clean the dish drainer before it is packed. You will find that all of your stuff is disgusting when you arrive, but this will eliminate the need to spend 4 days just cleaning stuff as it comes out of the box.

Moving day have your go bags loaded in the car. If it isn’t in the car, you will not see it for 25 days. Just count on that. Yes, they promised to try, but if there’s a blizzard, strike, anything, the contract reads 21 days (working) in transit. That gives them a month. So throw some sheets in the back of the car you drive and a couple of blankets – plan on a Walmart air mattress the first week. They are $40 with the air pump. Sheets, on the other hand, are expensive.

Have beverages and lunch for the packing crew. Your small act of kindness is repaid in their handling of your stuff. A case of bottled water and a dozen Big Mac’s goes a long way toward your collection of questionable household cleaners making the trip intact.

Hire Got Junk to come and do your house when you leave. Leave behind the crap that isn’t moving (that doesn’t get boxed up by accident) and pay them to make it go away.

We did that, and scheduled professional cleaners to come in and scrub the house, including the attic and the carpets. Now, you might think that’s excessive, but the 700 bucks got the rugs cleaned and the wood polished, in addition to all surfaces cleaned. I don’t even kid myself that I would do that good a job. The goal was to make it shine for prospective buyers. The pictures of the cleaned house were amazing. We got ten times the value of that expenditure out of the increased appeal of the house. Money well spent.

The drive. Plan your stops out ahead. Make sure you have a hotel for every night you are in transit. Reserve them. Make sure they take pets – check the location against local crime maps. Seriously. Nothing is worse than pulling into the hotel lot and having to wait for the crackheads to finish before you can park your car and your family. Also, and most importantly, you may be able to drive to Arizona/Florida/Connecticut in 2 days if you take turns, but it’s a mistake. Drive time for us was 8 hours a day. We got to our destination, let Chewy wander and poop, and had a shower and dinner before 8 each evening – and we never left before 10 in the morning. Just wake up when you wake up and don’t drive past 8 hours. Your body will thank you. I did the long-haul stuff as a young man, but it isn’t in the cards anymore. I’m very glad we took our time driving down here and didn’t have to sweat delays.

Unload the car every night. If you don’t, it will be stolen. Just plan on it. If they can see it through the windows, it’s theirs. A couple of trips in and out of the motel is well worth not losing your stuff.

Snacks:  you must have snacks in the car. Including beverages. Don’t argue, just get a four day supply of your favorites. You will eat them all in 2 days and resupply at a gas station.

Meals. Zounds. Chewy will survive on kibble and some McDonald’s French fries. Kip, on the other hand, is a tougher problem. I am a breakfast person. She is not. We compromised on a meal each day around 1400 at the drive through. Same meal each time. The COVID restrictions meant we ate in the car, most dining rooms were closed. Plan on driving and dining. It saves time. But get out and walk around every two hours for gas and water. Otherwise, at the end of the day, everything hurts even worse.

Arrival. Well, our stuff showed up sooner than we expected. We camped out in the house for 4 nights, and the stuff showed up day 5. There was a 3 day period of non-stop unpacking and Aleve. That is hard work. We hadn’t cleaned going out, so we had to clean it all coming in. But in a week, we had over 50% of the stuff unpacked and in it’s final storage place.

Now, 3 weeks later, we’re down to the last 5 boxes. We know what’s in them, and until we get some lights up and shelves assembled they stay as is. I think that unpacking and sorting a whole house in 3 weeks is really good. We actually had 95% of it done in two weeks exactly. If we hadn’t been so exhausted and muscle sore from the work we would have been done. But we started taking days off to recover. Wise move. I met my goal in spirit. Besides, I’m retired and who cares how long it takes.

Now to the homicide part. You will want to kill everyone in sight at least once in any major move. If your spouse is worth a hoot, they are their own person. They will disagree with you about where stuff goes, or when to hang towel racks, or something. You cannot kill them. They cannot kill you. The contractor who helps with whatever is also not a candidate for homicide. That means you have to hold your tongue, let them have their way, and hope they return the favor. We managed that. It is very stressful to move. It is physically hard work. Doing jail time on top of it is a real downer. Just be nice.

Well, Chewy and I are about done with our breakfast of grapes. It is almost noon, and I have a ceiling fan to hang before I can do other things. I hope this has helped you with your impending move plans.

Oh, another thing: hire competent people to wire/plumb/grade/fence. You may be good at all that stuff, but if you do it all yourself you will learn to hate the end result and resent the time. I’ve been hiring it out, and I honestly think it will cost less in the end than my doing, and redoing, some of these things badly. Straight lines are worth a lot of money.

Be well, and I’ll be back soon with some other observations on a new life in a new place.

Tonight we were sitting on the lanai (back patio) eating our first real meal in the new house. (The previous meals didn’t count,  because hamburgers.)  

I looked out at the setting sun, the plate of pasta and meatballs in front of me and remarked: “It isn’t really dinner until the sheepdog empties his tanks while you are eating.”  Chewy had wandered to the end of his leash about 20 feet away and let it go. Such is the outdoor life.

I now fully realize just how out of shape I’ve gotten during the lockdown. We’re on day 9 since the boxes arrived and have easily 2/3 unloaded and properly stored. The remaining ones are going to be easy, since they contain my office/recording stuff.  But given the 5-8 hour days we’ve spent unpacking, sorting, cleaning, and shelving the various stuff it’s clear it’s hard work. I’ve never taken so much industrial strength acetaminophen in my life. 

After the first 4 days it was clear we’d die if we kept up the pace. So now we work like serfs one day, and the next run around getting licenses, fire extinguishers, donating stuff we should have left in Minnesota and eating at Waffle House. 

This morning I had to set my alarm – which I now hate since I’m retired – and get up to make a call at 0730. I hurt so bad from yesterday’s scrub-a-thon that I could barely make it to the kitchen. Once the call was over I went back to bed for 2 hours. Chewy protested and came into the bedroom to grumble. I love him in spite of this.

Now, the real reason I’m writing this blog today: the stuff you find when you unpack.

During the course of our lives together, my wife and I have moved several times. Each time we did a pretty good job opening each box and seeing what was inside. Sometimes they were put in the attic “until” and forgotten. But always opened.

One such box was full of belt buckles and Zippo lighters from the ships I was on. My rule was that I had to actually set foot on the ship, then I’d get a cap, a coffee cup, a belt buckle, and a Zippo. Patches were a bonus, but rare. In the 80’s military world, people would trade Zippo’s with locals for drinks and food on occasion – or a spiffy Carabinieri hat. 

Thus the profusion of those items. I also found letters from home. I am saving those to savor – they arrived while I was deployed. Special moments.

You also, when you scrub every flat surface that comes into the house, find some cool things:

That sticker, found on the underside of a shelving unit that has followed us in our moves from Spain, was from the U.S.S. Pargo. The Pargo has a special place in my heart, as I made two trips on her and got a couple of great sea stories due to her horrendous food. The only sub I ever rode that had bad food. But hey, she’s been razor blades since 1996. As have all my ships.

As I emptied each box and evaluated how important the contents really were, I had some serious time for reflection. The things that seemed very important in 1998 were now trivial. The life events of 1988 were bigger than life after all of these years, and none of those memories got thrown out. Things wear out, are unimportant. Events, memories, people are what sustain you in life. 

My wife and I are taking the day off today, but tomorrow we finish the garage and tackle the great room boxes. Just a few more days and we’ll be done. The exception is the incredible volume of yarn: we have to build some more shelving racks for that stuff.

I hope your memories are not kept in a box for years and lost when you die. Get them out and cherish them today. If you send me a comment on the blog, there might even be a cherished Zippo for you. I have a few extras.

Last week I told you what a Christian movie based on reality would look like. There’s actually a lot of normal people out there in normal families. 

For some reason, in Christian movies there are some things you must do/ include depending on budget.

Let’s start with the inexpensively produced ones first. It’s a long list of painfully mandatory things on the checklist.

Bad sound. Your sound operator must wear hearing aids. You will go from hushed conversations that are almost inaudible to a full-throated pipe organ and back at least twice in the movie. Mostly you will be edging the volume up to hear what appears to be shouted volume. It is, however, hard to tell because the camera angle stinks and it’s so dark that vampires are hidden on the set and have never been detected.

The musical part of the sound track must consist of your brilliant, but socially awkward, niece’s original composition on the piano that is played with only two fingers.  All you are allowed to alter is the tempo. The same 45 bars must cover all of the action.

All the actors will be from the same church. When they are not over-emoting on the screen they will be in the background. Look for no more than 100 faces in the movie.

It will largely be shot in the Sunday School section of the church and the home of one member. There will probably be one scene in a bad coffee shop simulation (all you need is a chalkboard with a menu!) and a bad diner scene. The diner is the church fellowship hall. Nobody will actually eat the food, but push it around for camera impact only.

Teenagers will either be sullen or so spunky that even Saint Paul would want to backhand a couple of them – on either side.

The plot will be convoluted. They had 20 minutes worth of material:  it should have been a sketch. But they padded it out with a bunch of extra scenes with people lying on their backs staring at the sky and the camera revolving on the axis of their vision. They will also throw in at least one bicycle riding scene, and several long cuts to people with no dialogue who are listening to a lengthy exposition.

Best of all, the editors now have 3 hours of crap in the can, and they rather randomly cut the film to fit 93 minutes – the best scenes only, even if they don’t fit into the original plot.

Last, but not least, if you can slip in a couple of near accidents to show God is involved, you now have an inexpensive movie.

The expensive ones have better sound tracks, from moderately successful Christian acts, and feature either Dean Cain or Kevin Sorbo. Most of the other points still apply. But if the camera cuts wider than 50 feet of view in the first minute, there’s hope for the film. Actually, in fairness, Cain and Sorbo turn out some good flicks. They are definitely in the minority.

Oh, and the biggest plots in most modern “faith” movies:

Single mother moves to small town and struggles to deal with their past.

Pastor is losing his faith and finds amazing signs from God that he’s having an impact.

Someone is dying of a lingering disease and everyone is crushed by it except them. They will lend their strength to the dying person. There is a 50% chance they will recover.

First responders who have lost faith in the world and their spouse. (Same basic plot as the pastor, but flashing lights instead of candles.)

If it’s Canadian, there will be priests. If American no Catholics are allowed in Christian entertainment. I blame Luther.

Finally, some Bible story is set in the modern era. It will not be subtle, and people who skipped Sunday school after third grade will still figure it out in the first 15 minutes.

I think that covers it. See you next week.