By Charles P. Eberson
Senior Moments
Recently, my wife and I visited our son, daughter-in-law, three grandchildren and two Labradoodles for the first time since they moved last August. Currently they are renting a beautiful home until they find a “forever” home in their area. After the family’s kissing, hugging, and screaming at the dogs subsided, we settled into our visit for the next few days. As I looked around the house, every chair, table, bed, dresser, etc. reminded me of moving day months earlier.
My wife and I were surprised when our son heeded our advice of hiring professional movers. He went over all the details and inventory with them meticulously ensuring that the move would go smoothly, which it would have until “Murphy’s Law” showed up.
The movers arrived with their truck, went into the house, and quickly told our son that everything was not going to fit into one truck and another truck was required, thus doubling the fee and costing thousands of dollars more. To my daughter-in-law’s credit, she told them in words that could not be misconstrued, that their services would no longer be required and to leave immediately.
Unknowingly, my wife and I were on our way to their house to watch the children while the movers worked. Upon arrival, we found a U-Haul in the driveway that our son had just rented. My son quickly explained the change in plans and informed us that we, along with his father-in-law, would be helping to load the truck. Time was of the essence since they needed to leave first thing in the morning. We started to carry cardboard boxes into the truck like a trail of ants while our son arranged them like a Tetris game. Dressers, beds, tables, etc. had to be dismantled. Their bed was a California King Purple Bed that had the rigidity of Jell-O. It was like wrestling a greased pig, only heavier.
Our son’s second floor had an overlook into the living room. Guys doing what guys do, we heaved the mattress over the wall, watched it fall to the floor below and then dragged it out to the truck. Brilliant. It was August 4th, and in Marmora the temperature was 95 degrees and humid. Already a couple hours into the move, I was sweating through my clothes. My wife was supplying me with water which just seemed to explode through my pores before even reaching my stomach.
Then my son called out, “Dad, you have to help me with the gun safe.” This safe is 5 feet high, weighs about 600 pounds and was on the second floor. Along with his father-in-law, we wrestled the safe onto a hand truck and guided it to the top of the stairs. As par for the course, we had to go down six steps to a small landing, rotate the safe around, go down three steps, rotate the safe again and go down another two steps. After the first couple steps, the safe slipped off the hand truck and my son asked loudly, “Dad, you have it?” I put all my considerable weight against it and figured I would just order some hernia mesh from Amazon, watch a few YouTube videos on the surgery and be up and around in a few days. We finally coaxed that beast the rest of the way down the steps and into the van.
A couple more hours, more bottled water, a few Wawa subs and we were done, I know I sure was. I can’t help but ruminate on the fact that my son and his family are close to finding their next house and will have to move again. Maybe Amazon has a “Buy One, Get One” offer.
Charles Eberson has been in the newspaper business for over 25 years. He has worked as a writer, advertising executive, circulation manager and photographer. His photography can be viewed at charles-eberson.fineartamerica.com
