And although we'd run out of moving tape before the last two boxes were sealed, and had resorted, comically if desperately, to Scotch tape, the movers were impressed overall by our organisation and the quality of our packing -- and Paul was equally impressed by their professionalism, especially the care they took with my grand piano. . . .
Of course, I'm telling you this all second-hand, as I got myself off island before the truck arrived. As I told Paul, and as he heartily agreed, I couldn't see that my Worrying would contribute anything positive to the project, so I'd arranged to meet a friend for lunch before I visited the lawyer's for signing, then met another friend for tea. Distraction. All distraction. Worked a treat, and we got through our respective days and met up at the hotel we'd arranged to spend the night in, our bed now in pieces in a truck. . .
We had dinner together, debriefed about the day, and then collapsed into sleep happily, not long after 9:30, exhausted and relieved at having this important first stage done.
Until 2 a.m. when I woke and remembered that he'd mentioned having brought over some of the bins I'd packed with items NOT to go with the movers. Items I knew we'd want to have at hand over the next three months in the transitional small-apartment space while waiting for the sellers to move out of our next home. Items such as my DSLR camera, the next few books on my reading list, that loom I want to teach Nola to use, my sketching supplies. But also financial records, details about service providers, account information. . . Until yesterday afternoon when I'd transferred it to my purse, my passport was in there as well.
Anyway, at 2 a.m., I remembered that he brought one of the bins over on the boat with him along with bags full of garbage he'd popped in the dumpster, my little suitcase which we'd put in the trunk of the car. And I realised that although we'd planned to go back to the boat and move the bin to the car, we'd succumbed to fatigue instead. So at 2 a.m., with Pater sound asleep in bed next to me after a long, physically and emotionally exhausting day, I was wide awake wondering which bin he'd grabbed and what particular theft-worthy items were packed in it, and how inconvenient or disastrous their loss would be.
By 2:30, still awake, I was trying to determine whether I could dress quietly and go down to the boat myself and move the bin to the car. Both were within two city blocks of the hotel, and the area is well lit, and although the docks might feel slightly unsafe, I've never felt uncomfortable on them at night. Never been on them at 2:30 in the morning by myself, though, plus I knew that as soon as I started to dress, Pater would wake, and he'd feel he had to go instead, which would defeat my whole purpose of trying not to cost him sleep.
And, of course, in all this fretting, there was some shifting around, and I ended up waking him after all. At first concerned that I was having a tough time sleeping because of the emotions of moving, he was prepared to be calming and reassuring and supportive. He found that a bit tougher to sustain when he realised I was actually wanting a wee-hours adventure because I couldn't stop worrying about something he considered highly unlikely.
Well, dear readers, I'm not sure if you would fall on the side of the partner who would leave potentially important and valuable items inside the covered portion of a boat on an unlocked dock OR if you might take sides with the Designated Worrier of the couple. . . .
But if you had been downtown Nanaimo last night, peering out your window at 3 in the morning, you might have spotted a certain couple, of a certain age, bearing evidence of hasty dress, her hair even mussier than usual, walking through the quiet streets. At first, you might have noticed a certain tension between them, her face apologetic, a bit anxious, his quite terse, determined, perhaps a bit resigned. As they came back from the harbour, however, he carrying a heavy-looking Rubbermaid storage bin, she carrying a large red bag obviously full of sundry goods, you would have noticed that her features now registered relief and gratitude, his were beginning to relax into appeasement. They headed into the car park, and when they came back out, empty-handed, you would have noted that they were talking intently, and that he reached for her hand, which she yielded happily. By the time the desk clerk saw them waiting at the elevator a few minutes later, they looked as if they'd just come back from an impulsive, romantic late-night stroll. . . .
And in case you think that's the Happy Ending, there's more. When they woke again the next morning, the clock read 8:10. So they're well-rested for their last day of moving. Cleaning and handing over the keys are underway by the time you read this, and by tonight they'll be on a big ferry, ready to begin a whole new chapter. . .
Comments welcome, as always, but I am curious whether you would have been able to say, "Oh, it's probably safe enough. I'll check in the morning" or whether you, too, would have insisted on a wee-hours transfer to locked storage.