When Amanda and I decided to change houses this spring, we
knew a serious purge would be necessary, but I drastically underestimated the
chaotic state of our basement storage spaces.
Visitors to our former house know about our infamous ‘junk
room’ – a long-abandoned basement bedroom stacked to the ceiling with odds and
ends dating all the way back to our high-school days and beyond.
After selling
our home this spring, we had just a few weeks to deal with this junk room – on
top of all the other packing and purging that was required.
There were books, toys, knick-knacks, TV tables, fish bowls,
VHS tapes, hockey equipment, Christmas decorations, Halloween costumes and all
kinds of random rubbish that we’d stored away – clutter to be confronted at a
later date.
With a moving date looming, we were forced into action. Item
by item, we managed to sort the keeper stuff from the stuff that had to go. I
started posting dozens of classified ads online and much of it was snapped up
right away. The remaining items were placed in a last-minute garage sale,
dropped off as donations or hauled to the dump. Seeing that room totally
cleaned out was one of the most liberating feelings I’ve ever experienced.
With the junk room defeated, we tackled the rest of the
house, boxing or bagging everything we owned.
Being the cheapskate I am, I opted to forego the help of a
professional moving outfit. I borrowed a large enclosed trailer from my parents
and began loading things up as we packed. With a week left until Moving Day, it
seemed like we were in pretty good shape.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My parents were gracious enough to come spend a few days
helping with the move, but had they known the magnitude of this gruelling
ordeal, they might have made other plans.
While Mom and Amanda packed boxes and washed down the old
house (all the while dealing with two demanding toddlers), Dad and I worked
like rented mules.
For four long days we loaded and unloaded that trailer,
pushing ourselves to the brink of exhaustion. We wedged couches up and down stairs,
hauled laundry machines, a deep-freeze, a treadmill and countless other heavy,
awkward items - all with minimal cursing and wall damage.
At the end of the second day, as we sipped a beer and rested
our burning muscles, I turned to Dad and said, “It’s good to know that after
being at a desk job for so long, I can still do a hard day’s work.”
Dad looked at me and said, “So you’re bragging that you can
work about as hard as a 60-year-old man?”
On Sunday we evening, we closed the trailer door on the very
last load. Amanda and I did one last walk-through and said a very fond farewell
to our old Bower house – our first house and the place where we started our
family.
We attempted to express our undying gratitude for Mom and
Dad’s help, but there are no words to adequately thank someone for volunteering
to stick around through four straight days of such brutal, back-breaking work.
“We’re glad we could help you out,” Dad told me later. “But
for the love of God, hire somebody next time.”
Leo Paré is a former
Advocate editor. Email him at newsdeadline@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at
twitter.com/LeoPare
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