Moving Thirty Years Worth of "Valuable" Stuff

Many moving companies were consulted and invited to bid for the opportunity of moving our "valuable" belongings.  Since neither T nor I wanted to heave large pieces of furniture and hernia inducing boxes into and out of trucks, we decided against the U-Haul-Penske-Ryder type of move .  This time we would relocate like adults: no pickup truck stuffed haphazardly with our belongings for us. We would leave with class, choosing a large, nationally recognized moving company, (Name omitted) Van Lines.

  Prior to signing the contract, T showed the saleswoman pictures of where we would be moving, pointing out details of the dirt road that a truck would have to navigate.  Discussions about the widths of the county road and of our almost half mile driveway ensued.  Kari, our saleswoman for (Name omitted) Systems, the local contractor with (Name omitted) Van Lines, agreed that the moving van would probably not be able to navigate the narrow county road.  A shuttle would be necessary, which meant that the large van would offload our goods into a Penske/Ryder/UHaul type truck for the final miles to our new home.  She carefully wrote on our contract: Probable shuttle at destination. No extra charge for shuttle.  That was okay with us. Sometimes moving requires flexibility, we naively thought.

 I traveled with Bonnie, who didn't poop until almost three days later, frantically scrabbling around in this cage, meowing insanely, "This is not how I am supposed to live my life! I do not shit where I live!"  The roads were icy, so I had to concentrate on driving without inhaling.

 T traveled in our other truck with the ever agreeable Ms. Pearl, who hopped into the car early on so we would not leave her behind.  She liked that Bonnie was in jail.

To be continued.......