I Am Old

If you are only as old as you feel, I am 90.

Saturday, Tim and I stopped at U-Haul to pick up a 26 foot truck and drive up to my parent's house. We then proceeded to load up the "bare essentials of living" (things like a bed, couch, dining room table, so forth) into the truck. Dad was able to help, but it was really just the three of us and my parents believe in good quality, solid wood furniture. Plus they live in a 3 story house with big, heavy pieces of furniture scattered around on all floors, making it pretty much a foregone conclusion that you will be lugging said heavy piece of furniture up or down at least 13 steps to get it out to the truck. It took close to five hours to get it all on the truck.

Then, because it wasn't amusing enough to have to drive the silly thing and load the silly thing, Tim had to put gas into the thing. U-Haul trucks don't get the world's best gas mileage. Couple that with the fact that they didn't start us out with a full tank (they just marked where it was and said to bring it back at that level or higher), we didn't figure that we'd actually make it back down to the new house on what was left after getting up there. (In retrospect, I should have rented it one way and used a store up by my parents and dropped it off down by us, but since it's a local move, it didn't occur to me to do that until we were getting ready to return the truck, at which point it was really no longer an issue.) Let's just say there was a lot of backing up and turning the wheel hard and pulling forward and backing up some more, lather rinse repeat, at the gas station. But gas did, eventually, make it into the truck.

Then we got to unload the thing once we hit the new house. It took about 1/3 of the time to unload as to load. I think 90% of the reason is that the master bedroom is on the main floor at the new house. I already like that layout better than the old house. They still have 3 floors, but we didn't actually have to put any of the big heavy furniture on either of the other two. Yet. There is definitely a yet associated with that. Though maybe it'll be the professional movers who take care of the non-essentials who have to do that. That certainly gets my vote.

When we finally got home, sweaty, tired, and sore, we noticed that the mulch we'd ordered from the Boy Scouts had been stacked neatly along our fence. Oh joy.

So, Sunday afternoon found us spreading 65 bags of mulch in the various flowerbeds and tree mounds. It looks really pretty now, but I wish there was a magic gardening wand of some sort that would just make it happen. I like the idea of liking to garden, the reality of it is dirty and sweaty and just not really any fun to me whatsoever. I think I would like to be a gardening Captain Piccard so I could stand regally on the front stoop and wave at my minions and say "Make it so" and then have a really pretty garden. As it is, we have mulch and low maintenance shrubs.

Though, of course, at Lowes the other day I gave into the love of the idea of gardening and bought a little planter and some seeds for various veggies that the kiddo and I are going to try and grow. Assuming I get it out of the shed and do that before it's too late. I know better, I really do...I am the bubonic plague of gardens. If plants had a post office, there would be a poster of me hanging on a cork board, "Black Thumb Beth". More than likely there'd be a reward.

But I can't seem to stop myself from trying. It is, I suppose, a bit more long lasting fun than simply ripping up money and tossing it in the air.

Today, my sister and I took the two family vans up to the old house and loaded them up with other varied sundries and brought them back down and unloaded them.

I am sore, stiff, and tired.

I am old.