Page 81 - Hartridge 1934

ON MOVING
I write on moving as one who knows. Most people are under the impression that moving consists of little other than a huge moving-van blocking the street in front of your house and your furniture put on display on the front yard. Ah; but little do they
know!
I have just recently been through quite a siege of this sort—two days ago, to be exact. In my case we had quite a number of unforseen obstacles to surmount, such as— an abundance of snow on the hill the moving-vans had to climb before reaching their des­ tination, carpenters in said destination, the lack of a front walk, and a small dog, whom no one, I think, failed to trip over at some time or other. These were all minor details compared to the rest of our work. It is soon to be discovered by all prospective movers
that moving-vans do not carry such articles as lamps, kitchen utensils, clothes, food, personal belongings, and one thousand other things. Ah, the visions of those hectic days! 1 can still see mother sitting in the hall saying, "Third floor, right,” "Attic,” "Second floor, left,” etc. I can see now the old Ford station wagon we used, piled high with divers belongings, such as a waste-basket full of shoes (which must be taken back so it can be packed over again), lamps carefully padded with pillows, a doll belonging to the maid’s little girl, the maid’s clean uniforms, some silver trays, a wash-basket filled with what seems to have been swept off the top of someone’s bureau, a pair of riding boots, kitchen supplies, boxes out of the attic, a few old coats which should have been thrown away years ago, crowning all a cast of Homer, and smothered somewhere in the middle some poor victim who has been appointed to hold this mess in place. I discovered many things I had given up for lost many months before.
The course of events for one day might prove interesting to some of you ignorant settled folk who have never had the yearning to change houses. I was roused out of bed with the threat that the movers would take my bed even if I didn’t get up. I walked into the living room, from which furniture has been whisked with amazing rapidity, the dining room and upstairs being in the same state. I thought that our moving was prac­ tically finished till I chanced to peer out a window and see quite an array on the front lawn. It is surprising how terrible one’s furniture can look on the front lawn. Out came the trusty old station wagon and the carting back and forth began; I wish I’d counted the number of trips we made, it couldn’t have been less than twenty. We went for lunch to a kind friend who supplied quantities of towels, soap, etc., but who we wished had supplied a few nice comfortable beds. The afternoon went along much the same. By the end of the day nothing seemed to matter at all. Someone said, "You have a great big smudge on one side of your face.” To which I replied, "Oh, really?” A good ex­ ample of the state I was in.
Some fine day when we decide to move again, which I sincerely hope is never, I shall pull out this paper, my memento, and hope it will stir up enough memories to prevent such a dreaded procedure from happening again. l. f.,’34.
PAGE SEVENTY-NINE