Stuff!

While driving back from running a few errands this morning, I could not help but notice a huge orange truck parked across from the town hall, and bearing the name of the moving company I was expecting to deliver my worldly possessions from across the Atlantic. And when I say huge truck, I mean it. 30 wheels. Two full-on semi trailers hooked to an enormous (and enormously high) cab. So I pulled over and got out of the car to ask if perchance the fellow was looking for me.

Indeed, a small percentage of his trailer-space was indeed full of my things, but his truck was so big, he had no way of getting to my house. We live on sort of a winding country road, you see. He (a walrusy Belgian) told me that he would get it sorted out, and that he would see me soon. So with that, I left him, returned home, and beguiled the time by pruning and shaping our trees.

A couple hours later a much smaller van rolled up to the house, and the mover to whom I'd spoken got out, accompanied by a slim French guy, no doubt the deliverer of the smaller vehicle. They began to unload.

Now, this image should by no means be taken as any kind of endorsement of Reebie's services. They sucked. From the start, they didn't get a single thing right. It was a complete nightmare from the quote onward. Even when my shipment had finally arrived in Europe, it sat in a warehouse in Belgium for an unnecessary month because the incompetents in Chicago had neglected to send along the proper papers, which I had already filled out. The Europeans did their jobs admirably, but if you're moving out of Chicago, find someone else to help you. Today in Montcaret, however, these two guys were great. Over and over again, they emptied the van, then returned to the truck to get more. Most of the stuff they piled in a room I'd designated for that purpose.

Some things I had other plans for. Like my bed, which they delivered, and Sarah and I assembled.

The one truly heavy thing, the 250kg crated marble tabletop, did make them break a sweat.

But most of it was easy. I have very little furniture, but lots of art and doodads and geegaws, plus some assorted knick-nacks.

I was glad to see it all. 14.8 cubic meters, 1600 kilos, of material possessions. I don't quite know yet what to do with it all. So many clothes. So much art. So many memories, and pasts, and experiences brought in boxes to my door. And to be reunited with my table! I love my table. So many parties there. The movers didn't ask any questions really. Not even about the wheelchairs.

So tonight, for the first time in ten years, I have everything I own in the same place. Layers of lifetimes and lifestyles collating together into a single unified present. London, Chicago, the world, all in Montcaret. There's a lot to do. Papers for sorting. Boxes for rummaging. Lots of things to find homes for... but all in the same home. Home.

I need to teach Kepler about sword-safety. I need to find more shelves, because we have now way too many books for the few bookcases on hand. I need to hang a lot of art, then decide I don't like it there, and rehang it somewhere else. And of course we have lots of new toys today as well, which demand playing-with.

BUT: it's all a pleasure. Slowly our home is getting more and more lived-in, and more and more furnished. It's growing into itself. And we're loving it. Tonight I get to sleep in my very own bed, surrounded by the reedy smell of thick tatamis, and knowing that, after years of nomadism, I live here.

And there's still plenty of tree pruning and shaping to do. Life is fun.