Wtad.com-white Pages-6.09.17

MOVING STUFF: Boxes and Bodies

Bobbe White

We moved Korey to Washington DC. Let me say, moving is not for sissies. There are better terms, but let’s just call her belongings, “stuff.” In March we helped move her stuff from Denver. She sold her furniture; it was cheaper than renting the big honkin’ U-haul trailer, as opposed to the little honkin’ U-haul. Her stuff lived in our garage for three months. Last week, (queue Beverly Hillbillies song) we loaded up the truck and headed for D.C. -Washington, that is. Monuments, politics. All of the stuff was packed in the trailer. The back of the truck bed remained empty, in case of rain or theft. Except for one item: Korey’s snow skis – because one never knows when you can catch a quick ski run at Dupont Circle. Sixteen hours later, we pulled up to her building’s loading zone.

Within an hour, everything was moved to her fifth floor apartment. Next up: IKEA, also known as Disney World for furniture. IKEA has everything from couches to succulents. We loaded up new stuff into the truck and headed for Target for more stuff.

Moving stuff is a lot like buying a mega-load from the grocery. By the time you put it into the cart, take it out of the cart for payment, load it back into the cart, then out of the cart and into the car, unload it from the car and into the garage, set it down while you find your house key, pick the bags back up and carry them to the kitchen, you’ve handled the bags thirty-seven times. So it was, with Korey’s stuff. It wouldn’t have been such a workout, except for all the boxes of books. Books and more books. Big books. Little books. Hardback books and paperback books. This sounds like Dr. Seuss’ books. The girl LOVES her books. I kept wondering why we ever taught her to read. Just kidding…it’s a wonderful obsession. Korey’s other vice is artwork. The framed pieces aren’t all that heavy, but quite awkward in shape; there are no two frames of equal size.

Korey reserved the loading dock for 9:00 a.m. The ramp incline was about a 45 degree pitch. Work those quads! Her new friend, Maddie, kindly came to help. Wanting to appear like the ever-capable mom, I headed in with two Rubbermaid tubs and tripped on a three inch step. In degree of difficulty, Olympic diving judges would have scored my belly-flop in layout position, an 8. For athleticism, I’d have gotten a 2 and for klutziness, a 10. Ironically, I was wearing soccer shin guards, but that’s another story… What I really needed were knee pads. During the move-in process, I began to feel less like a clodhopper, because two others on team White House tripped. So there.

Our one fun activity after moving was a power mile walk to power yoga/Pilates class on the National Mall. It’s the big park at the foot of the Washington monument. Fortunately, it’s a huge space, as 500 people attended class. Forty instructors were positioned throughout the crowd for guidance. They pumped up the music. We pumped up our muscles. The sun pumped out major heat. In spite of heat and fatigue, class was fun. I decided I’d be done, when either my water bottle was empty or my arches had completely fallen (Class was barefoot), whichever came first. No wonder I was the oldest person there, by twenty years. This was the mother of all workouts.

Just when my spirit was drowning in sweat, a young boy, about three, found his mom/instructor right near me, and gave her a big hug as she hugged her obliques. We laughed. She did not shoo-fly him away. Before long, another boy (five-ish) found Mom. The two boys sat quietly. The smaller one then balled up beneath her plank position. She never missed a beat. The older one plopped her straw hat onto her head, a towel over her outstretched legs and she never missed a beat. Next, their toddler sister waddled to Mom. And she never missed a beat.

What a precious picture at the end of class. We needed a mental break from physical fatigue. I doubt I’d have lasted much longer, if not for the entertainment.

Class ended. I told Mom how much we enjoyed her ducklings. Then we got to walk the mile back to Korey’s place. Yay. I prayed there would be no more stuff to move. There was, but just a bit. But I never tripped again.