And Now, Back to Our Regular Programming
Here we are at Bear's Retreat, along with all our furniture and most of our knicknacks.
The house we moved out of (I was calling it "the old house" but Sam pointed out that actually it's the bears' house that's OLD) is violently depressing; there are pictures, and clocks, and shoes, all over it, along with lots of dust. Sam keeps a list of what he needs to bring over; "the child needs a belt," I'll say, or "I forgot my hair-dryer," and then when I get home at night, these things will have magically appeared. Yesterday I had to make a special trip to get the salt. Then Sam went later, to retrieve the child's school shirts.
The child had to go off today for his first day of class, and the school bus company had sent us a little postcard explaining where to catch the bus, and when, and what number it was, so we all went out there this morning and the child found bugs and Sam and I discussed The Yard: Where Does Ours End, and then an SUV came by and a woman stuck her head out the window and asked were we waiting for the bus to the Catholic school, which we were, and she said her kids took it, too, and it came by 30 minutes ago.
We don't know what would have happened if the child had gotten on the bus that would have come by eventually -- I guess he'd have ended up at the public school, with no room assignment, whilst wearing a Catholic school uniform -- but Sam drove him on over to the school, and he got there in time, and now we know yet another reason that school uniforms are a good idea, which is that if the Catholic Moms drive by in their SUV's they can tell AT A GLANCE that you have missed your bus.
("Where do you live?" she asked us. "Right here," we said proudly, pointing to our historical landmark. "We're the new people.")
At this point, we've got our bedrooms pretty much in order, and we've got the kitchen workable, although, as I mentioned earlier, I find while I'm cooking that I'm missing ingredients and tools.
Next, I'm hitting the basement, where we can watch the TV, and we can use the computer (here I am, for instance), but we can't use the treadmill, or even walk around much, because the movers stuck all the book boxes where the sofa and the treadmill go, so they are in the middle of the room. And there were a lot of book boxes. Lots.
But I bless the movers, cause they broke nothing of great significance, and they loved the house ("look! Logs!"), and they carried dish barrels in their teeth.
If I had seen this myself, we could think I was making it up, but I didn't see it; Sam told me about it later. So I think we can all believe it.
Really, truly, there are movers out there carrying dish barrels in their teeth, so that they can fit book boxes on their backs at the same time.
I'm just sorry Sam didn't have the camera, so we could all enjoy the sight.
And no, they didn't drop the dish barrels. The dishes got here safely.
The house we moved out of (I was calling it "the old house" but Sam pointed out that actually it's the bears' house that's OLD) is violently depressing; there are pictures, and clocks, and shoes, all over it, along with lots of dust. Sam keeps a list of what he needs to bring over; "the child needs a belt," I'll say, or "I forgot my hair-dryer," and then when I get home at night, these things will have magically appeared. Yesterday I had to make a special trip to get the salt. Then Sam went later, to retrieve the child's school shirts.
The child had to go off today for his first day of class, and the school bus company had sent us a little postcard explaining where to catch the bus, and when, and what number it was, so we all went out there this morning and the child found bugs and Sam and I discussed The Yard: Where Does Ours End, and then an SUV came by and a woman stuck her head out the window and asked were we waiting for the bus to the Catholic school, which we were, and she said her kids took it, too, and it came by 30 minutes ago.
We don't know what would have happened if the child had gotten on the bus that would have come by eventually -- I guess he'd have ended up at the public school, with no room assignment, whilst wearing a Catholic school uniform -- but Sam drove him on over to the school, and he got there in time, and now we know yet another reason that school uniforms are a good idea, which is that if the Catholic Moms drive by in their SUV's they can tell AT A GLANCE that you have missed your bus.
("Where do you live?" she asked us. "Right here," we said proudly, pointing to our historical landmark. "We're the new people.")
At this point, we've got our bedrooms pretty much in order, and we've got the kitchen workable, although, as I mentioned earlier, I find while I'm cooking that I'm missing ingredients and tools.
Next, I'm hitting the basement, where we can watch the TV, and we can use the computer (here I am, for instance), but we can't use the treadmill, or even walk around much, because the movers stuck all the book boxes where the sofa and the treadmill go, so they are in the middle of the room. And there were a lot of book boxes. Lots.
But I bless the movers, cause they broke nothing of great significance, and they loved the house ("look! Logs!"), and they carried dish barrels in their teeth.
If I had seen this myself, we could think I was making it up, but I didn't see it; Sam told me about it later. So I think we can all believe it.
Really, truly, there are movers out there carrying dish barrels in their teeth, so that they can fit book boxes on their backs at the same time.
I'm just sorry Sam didn't have the camera, so we could all enjoy the sight.
And no, they didn't drop the dish barrels. The dishes got here safely.
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