Believe me when I say, moving is not for the faint of heart. Moving 1700 km from one province to another quadruples the stress. It seemed like a great idea in the beginning. By the time the moving vans were loaded and on their way, we were questioning our decision. Who’s idea was this anyway?
Anyone who’s ever undertaken a house move will agree it’s one of the most challenging life events, both physically and emotionally, that anyone can go through.
MY FIRST MISTAKE
We have two vehicles which meant I had to drive one. No problem. I am a good sport and enjoy a challenge now and then. As a rule, I sleep from Bobcaygeon to Montréal and then from Edmundston to Fredericton. Could I even stay awake all day? Glenn drove the van, loaded to the point that the rear end was inches from the road.
Less than an hour into the trip, I made my first mistake. I took the wrong exit on a traffic circle, but a quick turnaround fixed that. Our destination was Edmundston, New Brunswick, about a 1000 km drive.
MY SECOND MISTAKE
My second mistake was much more significant. Once into Québec, I took the exit for Highway 30 which completely bypasses Montréal, but took the wrong road when it split. It was my fault because I had the radio blaring so loud I couldn’t hear the GPS instructions.
First, I boohooed and blubbered, “Why me?” After regaining a modicum of composure, I resigned myself to driving through Montreal, as we did for many years. That mistake wasted at least an hour, but I soldiered on.
As I approached the New Brunswick border, an overwhelming wave of sadness washed over me. I missed my children and their little families. The tears flowed and would not stop and by the time I reached the hotel, my eyes were little slits. Glenn took one look at me and had no idea what to say or do. And so ended day one.
We left Edmundston the next morning for the second leg of the journey and endured pouring rain for hours. The severe flooding in the Fredericton and Sussex areas was visible from the highway.
I reached Truro, Nova Scotia Monday afternoon, exhausted, and could not force myself to drive the remaining four hours to Lockeport. I filled up with gas…again…and checked in to the Comfort Inn beside it – a wise choice.
A hot shower, jammies, a comfy bed, and some mindless TV made a world of difference. I enjoyed a restful sleep – no crazy dreams or nightmares. The words of Scarlett O’Hara came to mind, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”
I began day three with breakfast at my favourite spot — Cora’s and some shopping therapy at an Old Navy Outlet. As soon as I turned on Highway 103 which travels from Halifax to Yarmouth, my sinuses drained and I could breathe clearly again. Had my body been waiting 40 years for me to return to the place of my birth?
The moving truck arrived at 10:30 a.m. and, as we feared, it could not get in the driveway for not one, but two reasons.
I called Nova Scotia Power to see if a crew could lift the wires and was told it would take several days to arrange that. Oh, well, not to be deterred, the movers offloaded onto my brother’s half-ton and drove the boxes to the garage and house. Since it was impossible to turn the truck around, the driver had to back up for about a kilometre.
At this point I think we should have sold everything in Ontario and bought new furniture in Nova Scotia. Forget sentimentality, memories and nostalgia. After all, they are things, not people.
I am sitting here multi-tasking: talking to each of our children, working on material for upcoming storytelling visits, listening to Don Lemon and wrapping up this blog.
Oh, by the way, many of you know our Bobcayageon house has been for sale since September of 2017 with almost no showings and one offer that fell through. Would you believe that our real estate agent called with a great offer on our first night in West Head? It would appear our house is sold. Go figure.