Downsizing

Everyone seems to be downsizing these days by choice or by force of economics.

Like many, my husband and I have been forced to “downsize.” This is politically correct for “move to lesser quarters.” I would prefer that it were a matter of choice for retirement’s sake but alas it was not. And, I want my husband to work as long as possible.

The reason I want him to work at least for another year is that he, Bob, when he was between jobs became “Pop-Up Bob.” In the morning I’d go to take a shower and THERE HE WAS. I’d go to fix breakfast and THERE HE WAS standing in the way between the toaster and the refrigerator. I’d go to put in a load of laundry and THERE HE WAS, I’d go to ask him to run an errand and oops there he wasn’t . . . well, you get the picture. Whoever said “I married my husband for life but not for breakfast” knew what they were talking about.

Downsizing we are, like it or not. In my mind, we are going off to the senior dying grounds which to say is a Mobile Home Park. I pictured someplace where I could at least swill beer and shoot off a gun on weekends but it turned out to be more than that. The residents aren’t toothless, grammarless, beer swilling gun carriers but they are all SO old. It is a Senior Park so what was I expecting? Friends and family keep reminding me that I am old enough to be someone’s grandmother but the point is I am not!

There were a lot of places for sale in the park and I asked where everyone was moving to and expected to hear “Texas or Oregon because the taxes are less there.” Instead I was told “they passed on.” So I wasn’t expecting to have much of a future there.

We had considered a well known senior resident community with a golf course and club house but I no longer golf and I’m not a “club” sort of person. And, when I went to check out the place, it was overrun by “senior police-wanna be’s” in golf carts making sure everyone was abiding by the extensive list of rigorous rules and counting the days your guest may have stayed, handing out parking tickets, making sure there are no lawn flamigos out etc. Noooooo, not for me. No way. Not now, not ever. I’d rather throw myself in front of a train.

Knowing I was going to HAVE to downsize, a friend took me around to look at Mobile Home Parks. Most of them were managed by people who seemed like they were more crypt keepers than managers and just about as humorless. They were also ready to read you the long list of rules and regulations including no dogs over 20 lbs. I’m sorry but I cannot give up Rascal, she is the best dog ever, a lab mix with a perpetually sunny outlook and too old to be “rehomed” and a portly 40 lbs.

Many of the parks also do not allow anyone under 40 to stay any length of time and we still have a special needs daughter at home. You can imagine my surprise when we found a place that had a pleasant manager, a heated swimming pool year round, residents with bicycles in their driveways not golf carts and I actually saw a child at the club house playing ping pong with her grandmother! Maybe I won’t have to look up the train schedule just yet.

Now for the hard part. I hate … I know it’s wrong to hate… but here’s the truth of it-I hate physical labor. Chain me to the computer, tie me to my easel, sit me in a chair and make me do telemarketing or watch infomercials, but please, please do not make me clean, carry, pack, sort, haul, bubble wrap belongings or do all that it takes to move, please. I’d rather sit with my 90 year old demented friend Mary and listen to her stories and questions over and over and over and over. But please no bubble wrap at least not for anything other than childishly simple entertainment.

After crying for a week, and finding a sort of, almost, maybe I could live there place, I faced the inevitable move. Little did I know that help would be hard to come by. I called on all my friends. One had to be fitted for orthotics, one was in Spain (why wasn’t I?) one had chicken pox (yes, seriously) and another looked jaundiced so I didn’t even ask. My sister would have to come 3,000 miles to help out and bring three small dogs who would otherwise get depressed. My older brother was tied up with his family and so it went.

I decided I’d better go shopping for tape, boxes, markers and yes bubble wrap. My mother passed away a little over a year ago and her sacrifice made it possible for me to finance our moving.

She came to me in a dream and asked for her money back. By the way, she was 94, nearly blind, mostly deaf without aids and still lived on her own, her way. And my grandmother’s dying words when she suffered a heart attack on the street and passers-by told her they’d get her to the doctor and hospital told them “F--- the doctor’s and hospital.” You see I come by my independence rightfully.

I was told that I could pick up help by the U-Haul rental place or by the lumber yard. There are many day laborers there. It seemed that none of them wanted to work for less than $12 an hour so that was tough. We tried a couple of them without much success. Communication was a problem and open food containers got packed for moving, glass was not wrapped, things got moved rather than packed which in a way was a good thing. I was afraid they were going to put little Waldo in a crate and put HIM in the Pack-Rat Pod!

Which brings me the next item: why oh why do we have so much stuff and much of it in triplicate? No wonder my mother wanted her money back! I’m sorry; one person cannot keep three others who are unorganized, organized. I know I’ve tried. And because I love to clean so much (I’m being sarcastic) and haven’t be able to afford a cleaning person for a while, I have been using my mother’s excuse—“my maid died.” I will not mention that it was 10 years ago.

You can imagine my horror when it came to showing our home to sell. Being the poster child and inspiration for the Fly Lady website when we did show the house, I usually went and hid someplace. I didn’t worry--they were strangers to me… they could think what they like or I would write them a long letter of explanation after the visit or post it on the door: two special needs adopted kids (now grown but they don’t need to know), three dogs, apparently deaf husband, very loud parrot, insomnia, allergies, post-post partum depression and chiggers. As it turned out the buyer was known to us. We even shared the experience of a Brittany Spears concert together with our daughters when they were school age. Oh dear, there is no living this down.

Do you remember Peter’s Principal? It was in full force for this move. Escrow was delayed but then it got activate and then we now had, not a 90, not a 60, not a 30 but a 10 day escrow. Not enough time to pack, wrap, sort, sell, thrift shop donate, or throw away years and years of accumulated stuff. All the rooms were full and so was the garage but it had to be done. The escrow had to close here at the same time as the other escrow or we could not go to our new place in the Not Quite Ready For The Bucket List Mobile Home Estate.

Do miracles happen? I think so, especially if you aren’t looking for big ones. Our realtor was praying for us in his prayer group. One neighbor brought us dinner two nights. Another neighbor asked us for dinner. Another friend had a friend who was looking for any kind of work. And he had a couple of friend’s also looking for work. And we were surprised when our realtor actually pitched in helping us pack, gave us advice and helped us find resources. One neighbor was willing to take Rascal for a few days while we moved and the little Chihuahua’s were going to be crated also but taken by car.

My brother took in my daughter. She went by train to Texas. My son went to Utah to stay with friends and find work. The only thing left was Zoe, our rather large noisy, sassy, bipolar Amazon parrot. I knew without a doubt that the neighbors in the Park will not be tolerant of her squawking, she can be heard three houses down now. So she would have to be down-sized as well. I went on Craig’s list and found a wonderful little hand-tamed green-cheeked conure who is just a delightful bird. I was so dismayed that I was going to have to give up Zoe at least having Daisy will take some of the sting out of it.

So the house is downsized, the family is downsized, the pets are downsized and even I have downsized. I’ve gone down one dress size because of all the stress and physical exertion it took to downsize my house. Who needs a bowflex when there is a whole ton of furniture and stuff to sort, organize, clean, donate, bubble wrap box, store, crate and move!

The move is moving along and the new place will be great, I’ll tell you about it later.