Ride the King's highway, baby
So, my mother figured we'd eat somewhere, sometime, Wednesday evening. This turned into a string of phone calls at work as we figured, first, we could eat at a restaurant near my parents' soon-to-be ex-home, and second, that my father would be joining us. Somehow this took many more calls than these facts would seem to demand. I can't explain it either.
At the restaurant we got to talk and I outlined just what had happened with bunny_hugger's flight, including the good news that she had got home safe and sound. And they asked me to help come over and do some packing and carrying of things around. I couldn't possibly resist the appeal.
The house was chaotic, yeah, and messy, and there wasn't any way they would be able to move out that day, not in its entirety. My father was planning to spend one more night, on a mattress on the floor, so as to put the last truckload of things into the truck --- he was getting a neighbor's help --- and moving them down to my aunt's in South Jersey. There was also stuff to move out of the attic, which turned out to be not nearly so empty as I imagined. My mother refuses to go up in there, so I think my father had been feeding her not precisely accurate information about how much stuff was left in there. That said, I have no idea how he could possibly have moved all that stuff into the truck in one day. I'm not sure how he could have even fit it. I suspect there's a storage locker story to be told in there, someday. He had the help of a neighbor, one that happens to share the name of one of my father's friends from Connecticut; I assumed it was the Connecticut friend coming down to help and commented on what a really good friend he was. My father set me right and pointed out that the Connecticut friend would, for all that he is lovable and well-meaning, be a little worse than having no help at all, because of his general health issues and genial disorganized air. You know people like that.
Anyway, I spent a couple hours helping box stuff and put it in my mother's car for her to move around, and taking photographs as they had found my camera when I left it behind in the chaos of Monday, and finally, my mother had to leave so she could get to bed for work in the morning. (That's a complicated arrangement and I'll discuss it later.) I did a little more and had to beg off, myself, to drive back to the hotel. I hugged my father, who was slumped in the one chair left for his camping-out night, and said, ``well, she finally did it, she sold the house out from under me'', which should give you the sense of what the whole move has been like.
And, I left.
Trivia: The International Olympic Committee waived the daily $27.50 room charge for athletes (whether they stayed in the Olympic Village or not) for the 1980 Lake Placid games, after the $49 million village facility provided --- paid for by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, and designed to become a federal prison --- offered groups of two to four athletes shared space in 10-by-10 foot rooms, and most athletes sought private housing.
Source: Encyclopedia of the Modern Olympic Movement, Editors John E Findling, Kimberly D Pelle.
Currently Reading: Nancy Drew And The Women Who Created Her, Melanie Rehak.