a day like no other

I didn't finish packing the essentials until after 3 a.m. And I should say "finish" in quotes, because I simply gave up then. I ran out tape and boxes and steam. 

On the upside, I had no trouble falling asleep at 4 a.m. On the downside, I had to be up and ready by 7.

(coming down...)

 

The movers were coming at 8 and, well, you know, there are the animals (I take greater care in the way I look at things this morning because, well, you know, there aren't many mornings left here)...

And breakfast, a rushed one for sure, but it still had a farmette peach so I am (for the moment anyway) content.

The strategy now is to get the movers to take as much as possible even if it isn't carefully packed (like, a heavy box shut not-so-tightly with photo tape, or crates of legos and duplos and playfoods that dont quite have lids). The rest I would do myself (for example, I filled a shopping bag with wine glasses and drinking glasses and champagne flutes and glass dessert bowls -- they dont break unless you move suddenly, or put it down with too much energy).

The movers (Badger Brothers Moving) were awesome! And they were so pleasant to work with. Heroes, really.

Gabriel (the one on the left) commented -- the property is so lovely!

I simply reply -- yes, but it requires a lot of work. He asks -- couldn't you get a landscaping service to do it? And here it is, the whole fourteen years at the farmette, flash before my eyes. Yes, I moved here in 2011, just six years into my relationship with Ed. The farmette was so different then! Of course, there were no flowers, but the trees were small and there was plenty of sunshine. Eventually we renovated the farmhouse  -- with a lot of bargaining and negotiating, but mostly Ed acquiesced. I had leverage -- the move, I had some savings -- if it isn't fresh and honest, I wont come. 

In the first years, we improved the structure and the lands. Sure we did. We built the porch and the glass roof. We fixed the front steps (he got around to it after many years of stalling).  He had someone repair the barn roof. We got chickens, we tamed feral goats, I almost got a goat. And we planted. Man oh man, did we plant! Flowers, fruits, veggies, meadows, vines, apple trees, pear trees, cherry trees, peach trees, nut trees, fir trees.

But then, something happened: you could say that nature and habit took over. Ed is lackadaisical about maintenance and care. If it ain't broken... And he got busy with his new machine design. And he has this thing about cutting down or even trimming trees. And so the inside of the house -- keeping it fresh and honest -- became my job, and the outside of the house became... my job. Compounding factors: we both got a lot older! Twenty years ago when we started being "an item" I was a mere 52. I moved to the farmette when I was 58. A child! I have to boast -- I work as hard now as I did then. I really do. But, the wild side of nature is winning the fight outside, and the cats and Ed and normal wear and tear are winning the fight inside. (Why are there still holes in the ceiling after our bathroom leak several years back? Why are there so many cobwebs? Why are there crack in the plaster? Why is the stair rail perpetually sticky?Why is the carpet so dirty??)

None of this was a game changer for me. I love Ed and I love many aspects of farmette living. And he never asked me to be the work horse here. But, as I leave the place now, I think -- wow, this place needs more work than we have been, I have been giving it. 

 

Ed called tonight just as I was driving back to the farmhouse (for the animals -- all of whom are very mad that most of their favorite chairs and resting places have disappeared). He's truly sorry that I have to do so much back and forth driving now that he's away, but it cannot be helped. Anyway, the apartment isn't ready yet. Horror of horrors, there's not even a trash can, because the one I purchased is too big! If Ed has taught me anything, it is to have as little trash as possible. At the farmette, we put out our trash can just once every two weeks and usually it's maybe half full.  

Even though I am sure Ed continues to think that I am insane to be doing this, he does want to be (at this moment) helpful and before he left, he had volunteered to help with the move, if I would wait for his return. I tell him tonight that it took the movers two hour and a half hours to carry down and out heavy furniture and a large number of poorly packed boxes. And they wrapped things carefully in quilts, and they had a truck with a ramp. Had we done the move ourselves, it would have taken us two and a half grueling weeks.

Everything went well. Okay, everything that the movers did, went well. Me, I carried Sparrow's Lego project up from the garage and the thing fell off the trolley and scattered all over the garage floor. It did that twice. I finally stuffed the pieces in my shorts pockets (did I tell you? It is beastly hot in Madison this week!), but of course, the damage was done.

And the carpet cleaners? They came. Two of them. And they decided they cant wash the couch in the apartment unit because it may turn brown from the treatment. But, but, I've washed the cushion covers myself! They were fine! His answer -- we bring special water here. And the carpets are lovely but are they wool? Yes -- I say with some pride. I got one in Turkey and the other two in Albuquerque at a carpet fair! He shakes his head: you know from doing laundry that wool is very unpredictable. (Ha! I just shrunk a blanket by washing it last week!) We wouldn't want to ruin it for you. I wanted to say -- what kind of well rated carpet and furniture cleaners are you that you cannot clean wool carpets and you cannot clean a locally purchased bland couch? Instead I said -- oh. And then he said -- but I can take your three rugs to the shop and do the job there. Would you like that? Seems like the company he works with could save a lot of time and money by asking some questions at the outset over the phone but hey, he's offering to lug these things and wash them so I have little to complain about.

The big pieces of furniture are in the new place. I still have to build one bookshelf and one coffee table, but there is no hurry. I have to find a sheet for the bed. (Did I tell you? Ed and I have only one fitted sheet at home. On laundry days, I wash it in the morning and sleep in it that same night. Yes, you could say we are frugal, both of us in our own ways. I save my retirement funds for travel and the grandkids. Ed saves for the pleasure of not spending. And of course, I have to finish moving clothes and kitchen stuff, but the bulk of it is there, in the wee apartment looking over not at a garbage dump (except on the days they have trash removal), but on a park! And a cornfield and then a commercial glass and steel office building. It's that kind of a neighborhood!

I wont post photos of it tonight -- not of the grassy view, not of the interior -- not until I have it mostly in order. But I'll show you this -- it's a little magnetic bulletin board and shelf outside each door. I think it's there to emphasize that the building is a community. That people ought to treat it as a place to meet others, to be friendly and curious about their neighbors. True, it reminds me of the little shelf outside my mother's assisted living unit, where people also put out stuff to say something about their likes and foibles, but here it feels somehow different. And honestly, the tenants I've met are really friendly and kind, as evidenced by the reaction to my Lego spill in the garage, or by the warm greeting I got from the Colombian (she volunteered) mom and son, both of whom are my neighbors and I couldn't be happier with that: no way will they be blasting loud thumping music late into the night. Many residents dont bother with the magnets, but some people go all out. I took the middle path, helped tremendously by my collection of magnets from the past three years -- a new thing for me, done to get myself from purchasing more expensive items when I travel. They've been at the side of our fridge, but no one in my family sees them, no one cares about them. (They don't need to "learn about me" though my magnets.) Here's my carefully curated magnet board:

So which is home now? Well, the farmette, sort of. Until I sleep there, at the apartment, I can still title my photo file "farmette days" because my days still do orbit around the farmette. Will it ever stop being my world? That, my dears, is a complete mystery to me for now.  

One day at a time. Right now, I'm sitting on the lesser couch in a very empty living room. I have sat in this spot so often, with Ed coming down the stairs, or walking up the path, that I can't help but feel him to be here, just steps away. This is what made all these years of farmhouse messes and weedy terrain irrelevant. We were bonded. We are bonded, only are are old, and I find it tough to live only in the moment at this point in my life. But, one day at a time!

with so much love (and gratitude to all those who wrote!)...