I don’t think I can truly describe how insanely stressful this whole experience has been. I have no idea how my friends with kids did this. Moving day approached with startling rapidity and we threw our life into boxes and containers, and also into charity shops and onto gumtree.
Because we were moving before christmas we were forced to sell the Prius at an enormous loss, compounding the effects of the delayed shipping (months of extra mortgage), the Minor’s explosive costs, the fall in the value of the pound (or rise in strength of the dollar) and the drop in the price of the house. Can I say that it sucked? It sucked.
Then moving day arrived. The men turned up to pack up the ‘breakables’ and rapidly stuffed our few remaining belongings into boxes.
We’ve never had anyone move us, and no matter how nice, or careful they seemed to be being, we both hovered around the place attempting not to get in the way, but completely paranoid about our stuff. Finally they were ready, and in plenty of time. The container was due to arrive at 1300, and around lunch time, they were done. We started pulling stuff up from the garage in preparation.
…and the container didn’t come.
…and no one could contact the driver.
…and no one knew where it was.
An hour passed, and it still didn’t come.
…and they’d still not reached the driver.
Another hour passed.
…and it still didn’t come. And the rain started to fall.
…the crate for the piano, covered it plastic at Kathryn’s urging, started to get very wet. Finally she asked them to move it, and into the van it went, again.
…and then they reached someone. It should arrive around 2 and a half hours late, they said.
…and 3:30 rolled around, and it still didn’t come.
Finally, at around 4pm, as day switched to twilight enclosed us, and rain continued to fall, it arrived.
And they revealed that they had no lights with which to see to load the container. We had, of course, given away all the work lamps and lights. Why keep them?
We helped load, as the guys were clearly stressed and wanting to rush. And for a while it looked optimistic. And then it looked less optimistic. And then it became apparent that despite our discussions and disposal of vast amounts of furniture and hundreds of books, and many, many tools, that there was not nearly enough space in the container. Kathryn had had this thought earlier, and had gone through the house with me, as we identified ‘pack first/pack last/give-in-and-don’t-pack’ items.
Things I never thought I’d say goodbye to, my dad’s piano bench and work bench both gone. Things that were pricey to buy but just wouldn’t fit, gone.
But in the end, Rebecca rolled up the ramps, into the pitch black cave of the container.
Tools were packed around the sides, and she (we hope) will make it across the seas to our new home.
The next few days were manic. Because of the miscalculation with the container’s volume I spent the next few days running, rapidly and repeatedly, to charity shops and giving away items on freecycle. Because we’d got the world’s smallest rental, and it turned out we’d got a lot more trash than we realised, I spent much of the intervening time running or the tip.
Kathryn spent every waking moment cleaning. And occasionally I’d make it back and help with cleaning too.
Then we realised that we couldn’t get everything that we were now going to have to donate to my mum (instead of taking with us, which had been the plan for much of this) in the car. So we made two trips to Cornwall: driving down, unloading, sleeping, driving back, cleaning, loading, and driving down again.
Then the next few days were spent in a frenzy of packing. Attempting to squeeze in everything in within the luggage allowance. We initially hoped we might get away with one extra case, by the time we got to Cornwall we’d acquired another case because when you included things that didn’t make it into the shipping container like… speakers, or Kathryn’s scanner, then you find you need more space. With endless shuffling we managed to get all of them within a kilo, we thought, of the 23kg weight limit. It turned out that two were slightly over 23kg, and 2 slightly under, and the very nice Delta check-in man let it slide. To make that happen we ended up shipping our ‘Working’ clothes (my coveralls, Kathryn’s work jeans), and some pottery my mum made and gifted us in packages at the post office.
But before we headed off, my mother treated us to a traditional Sri-Lankan going away feast. Two main curries, daal, many sides and incredible rice. Oh, and Watalappam, a traditional Sri Lankan desert. It was delicious and wonderful, and so, so hard. We both seemed to keep it together until the last day when my mum and I clung to each other and cried and cried. I forget how close we are sometimes. How much I value my relationship with my mum, its strength forged in fires of my coming out. I wish that I could have pulled my family across the world with me, because I know that in my brain she doesn’t feel so far away.
But in reality, she’s over 4000 miles and 11 hours away. And I find that insanely hard.
We headed for Heathrow and after a peaceful night in our favourite pre-london-flight-inn (with a final glass of cider), we slipped out of the country unceremoniously.
When the plane touched down I steeled myself for interrogation. I’m well aware that I’m not white, and after the shipping incident, my clothing choice was less normal-middle-class person and more “random stuff”. My warm boots wouldn’t fit in the suitcase at the same time as the stuff that had been destined for the shipping container, so on my feet they went. My Panama hat, I forgot to ask them to pack, so on my head it lurked. Hardly a subtle look. Especially in Washington in winter. But the only question that was asked was when we were married, and other than that, I got a smile and a welcome, and it was ‘easy as’. Some nice off-duty CBP types even answered some questions for us as we discussed my Visa waiting for the train to transfer us to the arrivals hall.
And now comes the adjustment. Finding our feet in a new land.
I’ve got a new mobile cell number, for the first time in over a decade. I’m sorting out jobs and learning how to navigate in this new place. I’m trying to take in landmarks and road names and trying to remember to drive on the right and not do U turns.
But what’s been wonderful is the welcome we’ve received. Both from friends and family, and from strangers. People have been uniformly nice, and whilst I’m sure that’ll stop at some point, it’s been a so lovely that even my overwhelming tiredness and inability to sleep through a night so far have yet to rub off the shine.
