Packing.

Taking the cats out of the boxes…
packing.

Moving.

House

Neighbors

Unpacking with supervision. Baby was NOT happy about the move.

First signs of making it home: a rug. 

A little bit at a time.

 Garage is starting to look a bit full.  

The hammer I get…
But an ovenmitt?

Bethie’s foxes.
And empty boxes.  

We have found a place in Lancaster, that meets all specified requirements. We realized much too late we didn’t specify “close”. It’s a drive of an hour and a half back to the valley where we all work. Oh well. It’s ours and we can move.

And I’m still packing.

Chaos reigns. *gah*
Because my housemates and I are having a problem finding a place that holds all the stuff, the creatures, the stuff, the equipment and tools, the stuff for which we have no name, at a price we can all manage, I packed my stuff up and moved it all to my mother’s. Her house is paid for.
My brother Roger came down the day we moved the storage bin and helped put all the pieces together. That’s after showing up early in the morning and helping pack up about 140 bankers boxes of my stuff. (I’m painfully organized and have my stuff in same-sized boxes so they stack neatly.) (why, yes, I do have a neat desk, why do you ask?)
Unpacking bin, chasing the cats off the boxes and out of the bin, disassembling bin, frightening the cats, packing the trailer, chasing cats off the boxes, tying things down, checking one last time for cats, tossing two cats out of the van, and closing up shop, took a good chunk out of one day.

(images missing. I need to find them again)
Following morning, checked again for cats, and headed out. A four hour drive later, we arrive at my mother’s. Then came the fun part of unpacking all the… wait, those boxes slid off and landed on the trailer floor upside down. Ohshit, what broke? Nothing? Just paper and books and clothes, just a mess. Ok, I don’t have to kill anybody.

I gave strict instructions on how all this was to be packed and… guys, you’re not listening to me as I’m yelling at you. *sigh* They’re all working to unpack and get set up. I guess I have to go help.

Storage bin set up.

Boxes transferred to the back patio pending packing into the bin.

My mother and Beth sat on the patio and supervised. That’s Beth, wielding the wrench.

And then Mom winced when she realized I wasn’t going to immediately move everything into that bin. Mom, it’s a big steel container that is no longer shaded by trees. Until I get insulation on it, anything I put in there is going to melt.

Everything offloaded. Everything set up. Everybody headed out for home. Job well done.
This isn’t one of my better writings, but I be tired.

The first week in March, my housemates and I were notified the owner of our property had sold it, and we had 30 days to pack and move.

Yeah right. Like that was going to happen. It finally dawned on all concerned, including the new owner, that packing up a three bedroom, huge office, really old-fashioned kitchen, a double-car garage full of stuff, a 50foot by 15 foot workshop full of parts and equipment for an electrician and handyman, a 50foot by 35 foot storage building full of several hundred video arcade games and assorted parts, a two-stall and tack room barn full of the overflow from everything else, as well as numerous sheds, pieces of equipment, lumber, and miscellaneous bits and pieces scattered over the 3.5 acre lot, while hunting down a new place, or places, to hold all this, while also holding down jobs enough to pay for it all, was not something that could be done in 30 days.

So they gave us 60 more. We have until the end of June to do all of the above. Fun times.

Since I’m the one with the most part-time of jobs, and the best packer, I’m packing. And packing, and packing, and… do we really need to keep all five of these? Yes? Ok…. and packing and packing.