Our New York Move
I’ve never been great at math. Here’s an equation that will lead to the photos you will see below. Minnesota House (2,600 sq. ft) = 420 boxes that moved to Florida. We ended up with boxes stacked to the ceiling in every room and it took three months to unpack. Next move, from Florida House (1,800 sq ft) = 250 boxes that moved to Florida apartment (but ended up requiring a “temporary” storage unit.) That one was easier, but we still ended up leaving boxes and furniture with friends until we could pick them up. So, priding ourselves on being reasonably capable of learning, you would think we would have everything figured out for the next move, Florida Apartment (1,400 sq ft) = 160 boxes to New York Apartment (750 sq. ft.) Nope.
Adding to the complexity was that we were also simultaneously moving Natalie back downstairs into her studio in the same building, and Luc into a studio about a block away. In typical fashion for our family, we ended up partially-organized, with a spreadsheet designed to identify what furniture was going where, what we would donate, what would be given or thrown away. It sounds logical, but none of us are super-dedicated to being organized, so that spreadsheet became more of a hopeful, aspirational document- like the Vegas predictions each year that the Vikings can win the Super Bowl (337-1, but there is still that 1), or the Declaration of the Universal Human Rights of Man.
The result is that when the moving truck finally arrived in New York, in one fell swoop we moved into our place, moved Natalie moved down to studio and Luc and I moved his gear into his place, swerving down a sidewalk with his furniture teetering on a hand truck, all in one memorable 18-hour day. When the dust settled, we had boxes and even furniture stacked in every corner, Natalie had about 40 banker’s boxes of overflow and a full archive of our past, and Luc’s studio transformed instantly into Fully Furnished.
Then came the aftermath. Cecile had to go back to Florida for her last couple of days at work, and I started unpacking. Priorities: I found the coffee maker at 11 am, but the coffee capsules not until late that afternoon. We had some clothes and other necessities from traveling, but within the Babylonian ziggurat of boxes that loomed over me, no signs guided me to dishes, or the legs on the armchairs (which eluded us until the bitter end), just cryptic Sharpie scribble on the boxes. LR- Ornaments and Misc. Hmmm. What’s in there? Angel for the top of the tree? DVD remote? Socks? Only one way to find out.
I began to unload. As I write this, we have now processed more than 80 boxes by my count, stacking dishes on toys from 30 years ago, working around piles of pillows from rooms we no longer have, and enjoying the afternoon light on a majestic palisade of book boxes that forms a cliff atop already full bookshelves.
I know in the end we will unpack, enjoy our tidy apartment and get rid of so many things we qualify for a personal visit from Marie Kondo, but that day is not today.
We can only slice tape, exhume packing paper in huge handfuls, and box by box, dig our way out from under. All I ask is your prayers for us to whatever deity you believe to be most powerful. We need all the help we can get.
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