Moving Day

Hey neighbors, I'm Martin Acres Home!

And I’m filling my days with little tasks. Before the real movers arrived, I had kitchen supplies to put away, chandeliers to finish installing and cleaning that called to me. 

This chandelier had been a house guest in a giant box, in my Longmont house for 8 months. Would you believe the obsession of the chandelier began the day I saw it (or something similar) hanging in a home on the Mapleton House Tour last year? True to me, I didn’t stop looking for it until I found it online and shipped it. I called it a me-to-me Xmas gift in 2016 and allowed myself the benefit of denial – a necessary evil when telling oneself that it is not part of the budget I was supposed to be adhering to in the remodel plans.

Then came carpet pad and carpet. The installers from Carpet One were fabulous! They loved on my dog, lugged heavy and awkward rolls of carpet with smile and finished exactly when they predicted they would.

I love the new carpet. And was getting close to tears at seeing the house looking like a house finally.

This is the master bedroom.

The upstairs living room is looking cozy too.

We were gearing up for the City of Boulder’s somewhat final inspection. Outside, Ken was hard at work with the skid-loader and grading was getting finishing touches.

Then… It was moving day!  Much anticipated and simultaneously dreaded. 

We met the movers at the Longmont house, directing the removal of the remaining boxes and all the furniture, from the garage to the truck. It was slow going. The movers took their time and Mark remained in place to help, while I scooted back to Boulder. Then I got the call; The movers were enroute and it was 12:05 pm. They called to say they were stopping for lunch and that they had decided they would not want to move some of the heavier items upstairs. 

Ok, let’s recap. When I contracted the movers, they asked for a list of heavy and/or awkward items. I sent it. Also sent photos. Now they were reneging because one claimed to have a back injury and was scared of squashing his fingers while going up the stairs. Really?  Yup.

I informed him that expectations were that the items, heavy or not, were to be placed in the appropriate rooms of the house, whether or not stairs were involved. He hung up on me and a minute later his boss called – to tell me I was bullying his burly movers! I could not make this stuff up!

The move concluded in 8 hours. We struck a compromise with the chest freezer being lifted up two stairs to the mudroom, but the bookcase not going up any stairs. The best part was the price. Quoted at $650, we ended up being charged $1120 and that was discounted after I complained about being charged for their lunch hour!

Who do I NOT recommend for movers?  The Good Move LLC. Whiny little girls who bid reasonably to get your contract, then move slowly and up-charge at the end. More than enough said.

Then the real chaos began. What was a beautiful, mostly vacant house with a new carpet smell, became a holding pen for boxes of all different shapes and sizes, an explosion of bubble wrap and packing paper and a giant tripping hazard! But on the plus side, we had a real bed and by nightfall, it sported clean sheets and a down comforter. It had been 9 long days since I had slept on my awesome Tempurpedic mattress and I was exhausted.

No rest for the wicked, as they say.

The City’s mandatory “street tree” was arriving tomorrow and according to the master landscape plan it was to be planted in a newly created berm in my front yard.   Ken to the rescue! One hour before tree delivery, he moved mountains of red earth, pushed and flattened and heaped the existing soil into something that closely resembled the shape that Becky had outlined on my landscape docs. 

Coming Home to Martin Acres

 On September 1st, Mark and I moved into our new/old Martin Acres house. My neighbors... my trails... my happy place. 

The day started at 4:30 am. We were up, deflating the blow up bed that had been our rest spot for the last 4 nights at Terry St, putting the last of the “we’ll need this” boxes into the borrowed truck and headed for Boulder by 5:15 am. After unloading the truck into the garage at 285 Martin Drive, Mark drove  my car to Denver for work and I took the truck to Louisville for a Starbucks pickup and a final walk though. Then the clients and I headed for Land Title in Boulder for our 9 am closing.

Post closing, I was headed back to the Longmont house, lickity split. I still had some cleaning to do and the packing of those items; vacuum cleaner, supplies etc. I had a cat to stuff in a box for his trip “home” to Martin Acres that afternoon and tenants to hand off to at noon. There was definitely some last minute stuff going on, but we made it and just a few hours later, I had an extremely unhappy and most vocal cat beside me in the truck as I sped off to Boulder again.

I put Smokey Joe in an upstairs bedroom that was still awaiting new carpet. He had his litterbox, food, water and a bed. His crate stood open, nearby and I closed the door to the room before taping a giant “Don’t let the cat out, please” sign on it.  At my neighbor, Donnie’s house,  I had some lunch and one of those chats that I had missed while living in Longmont. An hour well spent! Then it was time to check on poor unhappy Smokey Joe.

Question: Why couldn’t I find him in the bedroom when I returned? The answer came when called his name and heard a faint and terrified meow coming from the duct work. My heart missed a beat. Two beats. Could he really have crawled into that tiny duct from the vent hole in the floor?  He is not a small cat. Think Maincoon size.

Yes. He apparently could. But it’s a one way journey because there is no room to turn around! 

So at 4 pm on a Friday afternoon, as the guys were packing up to escape this job site and enjoy a long weekend, I had to announce that my cat was in the ducts and I needed help to remove him. What help? Not sure. I guess that depended on where he was under the floor between the first and second stories. My stroke started about that time. 

After much debate it was agreed we kinda knew roughly where SJ was. Ken had the great idea to pull up a piece of the plywood floor and expose some of the ducting. We found that about 5′ along, the vent duct turned 90 degrees, then 90 degrees again and connected with a larger duct. One that might make it possible for the cat to turn around in. Ken got his sawsall out and cut a flap in the large duct with the idea that SJ would either find the hole and come out or be scared back the way he came. The noise and vibration was horrendous, but it worked. Smokey Joe did an about face and came climbing up the vent hole he entered. Crying and covered in dust and insulation debris, his noise gummy and his eyes filled with fear, he stared at me with a look that all but said “why did you stuff me in a duct and who was trying to cut me in half with a saw?”

Aaron sealed the holes in the room temporarily and they left for the weekend. My stroke subsided and within a few hours SJ was back to his normal self too. I had no doubt that should he be faced with a similar option – to crawl in and explore or not to crawl in and explore – he would choose the same way again!  <sigh>

And that, my friends, is how the saying “curiosity killed the cat” came about.

Over the next few days we acclimatized SJ to being an indoor-outdoor cat again. He got used to the neighborhood and using the brand new doggie door to let himself in and outside at will. For a critter who complains as loudly as this one does, he is remarkably adaptable. Some days I see him, others he is dozing under a juniper and scarcely around. Every night, he comes in and out and checks on us in bed 3-4x though. Most mornings he is sleeping on the pillow or foot of the bed when I awaken.

If you are a cat person or feel your pets are family, then you’ll understand that despite or because of his independent antics, I love this little furry guy and it would have been heart breaking to lose him or damage him while simultaneously celebrating the return to my Martin Acres family.