When people move you.

And I'm not talking about the latest "touchy feely"  crap having to do with some teeny bopper video on Youtube or any of the other nonsense that seems to creep into our lives.   No no,  I'm talking about when a moving company comes along,  packs you up,  and "moves you".
I do realise that it's a privilege that's shared by very few people,  and I also know that I wouldn't go anywhere if it were not for the services of these fine people.
Case in point,  once we moved into our house in the (dead of) winter in 1992,  I figured I wasn't coming out again unless it was on a stretcher.

No more "self" moves for me,  thank-you.

But that's just me.


However....

Along with the privilege of having someone come along and pack you up comes certain,  shall we say?  pitfalls?
When the moving truck finally showed up in the Netherlands (pretty sure our shipping container went the wrong way  around the world,  but we won't go there) we made a couple interesting little discoveries.   Well,  "interesting"  in a very broad sense I suppose,  it was more like,  "oh crap,  what do we do with that?"

We have an entire Rubbermaid® tote full of craft supplies.  I couldn't describe the contents to any extent,  and sad to say,  it wasn't even missed from the plethora of stuff my daughter has collected over the years.   We also ended up with a similar tote full of Christmas ornaments which we sort of spread around the apartment back in December.  That was fun.
Then there are the three brand new door knobs,  still in their boxes,  that I had set aside for the eventual replacement of the old ones in the upstairs bedrooms.  (um...in Canada)
OK,  it's not because I'm a "hoarder",  it's because the first time I had to go out to Home Despot or where ever to pick up another new door knob,  I had a heck of a job finding the matching design.  So when I finally found it,  I bought enough to do the rest of the bedroom doors in the house.  I just haven't installed them yet.
Hey,  I don't live there,  so it's no big deal.
Just too bad I didn't hide them from the flippin' movers.

I suppose if I cart them home in my suitcase on Thursday I just might have to get around to installing them or something.  We'll see.

That of course, would depend on a few things:  1) I need to figure out where the heck I put them. 2) I'd need to remember to do something with them when we get home and, 3) well....it's all going to depend on which way the ash blows come Thursday?  Somehow that sounds a little vulgar,  but there's this big "ash hole" up in Iceland that seems to be creating some problems.

We're trying not to fret over here.


The reason that I'm on the subject at the moment is all due to a follow up to our little water event last week.  Turns out we actually did have well over 20 centimetres of water in the basement at one point,  since I could see the high water marks on the suitcases.   Now,  suitcases are pretty impervious to water,  which you'd realise if you've ever sat on an airplane watching the gorillas handle your luggage in the rain.  That's not to say they're water proof or anything,  but for the most part by letting them dry out again,  they're good to go.

  A little WD-40 here and there doesn't hurt either.


I absolutely refuse to buy expensive luggage anyway since,  if you've ever sat on a plane and watched the gorillas handle, well....never mind.

(plus there's a direct relationship between the expense and flashiness of your luggage and the likely-hood that it'll go missing,  trust me.
You want to "check" LV luggage?  Then you have more money than brains.)


What I discovered was,  one of the boxes that got accidentally shipped over,  was a small box of books that I quite honestly didn't know what the heck to do with.  That same box had sat undisturbed in the garage in Delden for the whole time we were there,  but in one of those moments when I ran out of places to put things,  I shoved them in the bottom of one of the suitcases. 

Not the best place.

Out of perhaps 20 small paperbacks,  there were only three that were completely beyond hope,  and they'll be off to the recycling bin I'm afraid.
I'm not sure exactly when I would have been interested in rereading any of them either.

I think the part that I find the most intriguing is that I ever managed to read any of this stuff in the first place. 
Wowsers,   I paid a whopping buck sixty-five for that one in the middle.
Better contact the insurance company.






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