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.......

Middle Aged Crazy or What the Hell Are They Thinking?

 I really don't know what we were thinking when we said, "We'll buy it!"  It was a beautiful day, the light just right, the same light that Georgia O'Keeffe, that cow skull decorator, painter of flowery genitalia, was drawn to, sparking an influx of artists to New Mexico that continues to this day.  A soft breeze, almost zephyrlike, made itself barely audible through the oaks and pines.  The air smelled sweet.  At night we could see every star in the sky.

So we bought a 100 acre piece of property in Northern New Mexico with an almost new log cabin, really, truly in the middle of Wheretheheck, Nowhere.  The closest town is a village, population a little over 26 as of the last census.  The next most populous town is the county seat, with a whopping 1500 individuals living in its zip code.  The big town is an hour and twelve minutes away.  That's where we will buy our groceries and maybe see a movie once in a while.

T and I are retired high school teachers who have enjoyed living in the country.  When our farming neighborhood of 30 years, in a rare rural pocket of Southern California, started to visibly display all the trappings of suburbia including mind-numbing traffic, we started getting antsy.  Eminent domain shoved us into a situation where we had to get out anyway, so we decided, "Why the hell not?"  We didn't need to worry about schools, or jobs, or if our kids would grow up weird living really out in the boonies.  So we are moving.

This blog will be the chronicle of this new chapter in our lives, and I hope you will lurch along with us on our New Mexican adventure.