Sinking Ships

I wish the ship had gone down--the crew saved, of course, but all our stuff now at the bottom of the ocean.  I liked how the house was before chaos and our belongings arrived. 

To recap:  Saturday I met the driver, Scott, at the designated place for me to pick him up, and one look at his massive, gigantic truck, and I knew he would never, ever get up the mountain.  I told him as much, though he still wanted to see for himself.  By the time we had navigated the two hairpin curves and the narrow, twisting road, he was beginning to see things my way.  When he got a good look at the dead-end part, he agreed there was no way.  I hated being right.

We ended up having to get a U-Haul, and because his truck was so large, he had to park it at a legitimate truck stop (6 miles out of Roseburg), then unload from there and drive back to our place.  Three times.  Why three times..??  Because at short notice, we could only get a 14-ft U-Haul.

This was after the first load was shoved into the garage and they went back for more.

Ozzy was not a happy boy on Saturday.  I was hoping he would smell all the old smells from home and feel better about being moved to the wilderness.  That backfired.  He got more depressed and stressed as the day went on.  I think he's now totally realized this is not a hotel and he really lives here.  As I was taking these photos, he tried to make a run for it down the driveway.  I think he was looking for the airport.

This was after all the driving back and forth business was over.  The only opening between the downstairs and the driveway was this little aisle as the garage was stuffed to the rafters.  When everything had been transferred from the giant truck to the U-Haul, and delivered, Scott and his sidekick Greg began hauling all the boxes and odds and ends of furniture up into the house.  (Notice Ozzy in the distance...still calculating how to get to the airport.)

When the day started, the house was roomy, bright, open...and clean.  I felt bad for the guys.  Though it was a cloudy, rainy day, it was still in the 70s and very muggy.  Scott was starting to lag at this point.  So was I.  I was unpacking things, directing traffic, and cursing that there hadn't been a storm at sea.

Early stage of the bedroom mess.  By the end you couldn't see the bed for all the boxes.  I was trying to keep up with the unpacking, but lost the plot by late afternoon.

The some-day-if-I-ever-get-it-organized study.  By the time we all called it a day, you couldn't see the little table, the futon couch, or the windows for the multitude of boxes.

There wasn't a surface in the house that wasn't covered with stuff. The kitchen was so bad, I lost the camera somewhere in the turmoil so these are the only photos.  I didn't find it again until the next day.  By then, I was too exhausted to push down on the shutter.

Some key points that stand out:

• The monster truck was beyond belief.  I meant to take a photo of it when we took the guys back to the truck stop, but I ended up staying at the house to keep unpacking, plus I'd lost the camera.
• After Alan left with the guys, I thought I would take Oz out for a walk up the road, and discovered that the U-Haul truck had left a five-foot wide swath of oil for about twenty feet down the drive and up the road.  I walked Oz, then spent 45 minutes with dishwashing liquid, the broom and the hose, washing the mini-Gulf oil spill away.  Like I wasn't already tired enough.
• Back in the house, and back to work.  I was unpacking a box in the kitchen, reached in, and stabbed myself with a broken shard of glass.  Blood dripping all over the packing material, the floor, down my arm.  Gross.  All I could do was chant, "Don't be bad, don't be bad, don't be bad..."  I'm alone in the house, no car, no idea where the ER is, and not too sure if I still have all of my finger.  Turned out okay, though if the wound had been anywhere but my finger, I would no doubt have needed stitches.  Many blood-soaked paper towels later, I finally triple-bandaged myself and carried on.
• As I worked, I couldn't help but ponder why we need the things we haul around with us.  If I croaked tomorrow, all the things that matter to me will mean nothing to anyone else.
• When I was unpacking my clothes and hanging them in the closet, this ghastly odor began wafting around me.  I sniffed a handful of shirts and was horrified to smell something akin to bilge water, seaweed and mildew.  OMG, my clothes were apparently dragged behind the ship from the UK, through the Panama Canal, to LA..!!  I will be doing laundry for the next two years.
• Very late into the evening, I made my bed with my much-missed and favorite duvet and pillows.  Bliss.  I slept like a baby.  Whether because of my blanky, or because I was beyond tired, I don't know.

Sunday was grueling, though at least I felt we were making some headway.  Today has been much the same, though I find myself getting snarkier as the hours and days go by.  I need a break from this constant work.  I'm with Ozzy on this one:  Where's the airport..??