Busy-ness

I feel SO busy. But then, everyone's busy. Am I truly more harassed than others? It's so hard to judge. I'm definitely not one of those 'I don't know how she does it' women who seem willing and able to run the world; my tendency toward hedonism and slothfulness is too pronounced. But I definitely have trouble saying 'no.' Probably this is more from fear that I'll be left out of something than a desire to do good, but I volunteer for stuff and then find myself resentful. Recently I agreed to help at a charity yard sale, clarifying that my contribution would be packing up at the end (that way, I find, I'm less likely to be late). 'Oh thanks!' wrote the coordinator. 'We start at 11:00 am. Please come early and we will tell you where you're needed.'

No! I raged (to myself). I *can't* come early! I am too busy! But so is she, I answered me; clearly too busy fully to read my message. Oh yeah? I said. (Good thing no one else was around to interrupt this exchange.) Did that coordinator just move into a new-old house that keeps springing leaks? Is she trying to unpack hundreds of boxes that seem to increase rather than decrease in number? Is she in the midst of filing for permanent residency? Does she have three school-aged children and three pets to look after, and a husband who has left the country, albeit temporarily (or so he claims)? Is she hosting a bar mitzvah in three weeks including 40 out-of-town guests to whom she hopes to show effortless and generous hospitality on a shoestring budget? Does she have to give a research paper today at a hospital in... Oh hell. Gotta go.

High and dry(er)

So, moving to Canada seemed a good idea for many reasons, some large, some small. One of the seemingly less weighty was Big Laundry: the possibility of doing in one load the washing which in England would require three. This sounds trivial until you have a family of five and are responsible for everyone's clean clothes, all the time. The U of T rental house provided us large though old machines, and I got used to the efficiency-- albeit not to the dank and creepy back basement where they were situated.

Our new house came complete with a used but heavy-duty Maytag washing machine, the signature brand of Sears, itself a Norman Rockwell-like signifier of American tradition. Great. But no tumble dryer. So I shopped around and found one that seemed fine and could be ordered online; relatively cheap, basic, not too many settings and features-- Amana, another good old tried-and-true American brand. I checked the size; the machine was big, but would fit easily into its designated space. I negotiated well with the company (or so I thought) to get both a low price and free delivery. Clever me.

Alas, not so clever. Our new house is in fact quite old, dating from 1899, and the upstairs hallways are very narrow: ours had a bottleneck of 26.5". Lifting, twisting, turning, and shoving failed to get the dryer, whose narrowest dimension, depth, measured 28.5" with the back panel removed, beyond that point to its intended destination. Everyone, from the deliverers, to Jan the Man (who is in charge of coordinating and managing our inadvertently major overhaul of the new house), to husband, to an engineering friend, said 'Nope, it can't be done. Send it back. Get a smaller one.' But Big Laundry was part of the dream. Again, trivial, but not to me. I couldn't let go. After two weeks without laundry (and a lot of me saying 'Careful! Don't spill! You'll get that dirty!'), importuning friends, even contemplating an evening at the laundromat, I was ready to give in and Go Small. Then Jan said, 'Wait! We have a crazy idea.' Greg, an ex-gaffer who is one of Jan's band of merry minstrels, said he felt confident that they could wrap the dryer securely, haul it up the side of the house with ropes and a ladder, onto the roof of the extension (husband's study), up again and over the rail of the third-floor sundeck, then downstairs to the second floor and into the back room intended for laundry.

It sounded mad. It was mad. I asked whether they had insurance. They laughed. I worried about whether the dryer would survive. I also worried about accidental death, both out of sincere concern for the Merry Minstrels, and for our future lives in a home marred by tragedy. A friend to whom I described the plan said that the crime scene tape would be in the shape of a rectangle with two feet sticking out. Husband worried about damage to the roof of his study.

But they did it! And it all went swimmingly. Everyone lived. Up, over, and down in under half an hour, and later in the afternoon they had the dryer connected and running (though the washing machine had sprung a leak-- I think the gods are telling me to stop doing laundry). Jan and the minstrels are miracle workers. We will miss them when they go. Jordi the dog will be especially sad; he anticipates the men's arrival every morning, yapping with excitement when he hears them at the door: Adam, Adam, Ben, Chris, Greg and of course Jan, plus a few who come and go before I learn their names. It's sort of like our family has suddenly grown.

So, yes, it will be a bit lonely when they are done and gone. But I think we might get used to it (except for Jordi). In any case, we are ready to find out.

Discoveries

We are unpacking in a random, slightly desperate, frantic lack of order. Late last night, in the basement, we opened some of the boxes that had remained untouched since we left Brighton and others that had been packed up in Durham, almost a decade ago. Some had flies or bits of mouse poop caught under the wide strips of brown packing tape, like extinct insects in amber. We may re-discover evolution.

We did make some quite wonderful discoveries, like a 480-count pack of our favourite Sainsbury's Red Label tea bags, bought before we moved to Toronto. Frabjous day. Does it matter that the best-before date is 2011? Still hoping to uncover our big brown teapot. It's been so long that I wonder whether I just imagined owning it.

I found a birthday card to husband from the girlfriend before me.

The dryer has to be sent back. Our friend and expert, Karl, says it can't be shifted to the laundry room without removing many bits of the house. He did detach some of them, to our slight horror, and it was not enough to move the machine. Karl then obligingly returned the bits to their designated positions. Relief.

And to make life even more interesting, the washing machine seems to have caused a leak in the kitchen ceiling.

Will the fun never stop? Because really, I'm ready for some nice, soothing boredom.

On the plus side, my friend Hilary has come to visit from California (YAY!). Today she helped with kids and house. Tomorrow we are gonna have us some fun. Watch out, Toronto.

Moving experience

It was a long day. We sure do have a lot of boxes. Truly, a lot. It was like the Million Box March.

Movers arrived at the old house at 9:15 a.m. and dropped off their final load at the new one at 11:30 pm. It poured, poured, poured with rain. A thunderstorm hit around mid-day. The men left quite a few things behind, including numerous boxes in the basement; they couldn't be moved (said the movers) because their bottoms rotted, thanks no doubt to our several floods. At 2:00 a.m. husband and I were sorting through the collapsing cartons, like miners after gold in a particularly grotty cavern. At 4:00 we slept in our new house. For the next few days we went back and forth retrieving forgotten detritus.

We are still recovering. Temporary recuperation was at hand in the form of a visit to friends with a spectacular cottage in the area north of Toronto. To these friends we say 'thank you for our sanity'.

Now we are back home (home!) with all three children, and trying to live a normal life. Having no kitchen just makes it a bit more challenging. Oh, yes, and does anyone have any ideas for getting a dryer down a hallway that is one centimeter too narrow? Answers on a postcard please...