August 7 Editorial

This week, we finally moved into our “little shack” on the water, and though it wasn’t easy and it looks like ramen noodles are on the menu for the next six months, it was well worth it.
We had been preparing for the move for nearly a month. The boxes were packed, the services had been transferred, and the truck had been rented. I thought I had this all under control. I was wrong.
When moving day 1 rolled around, I grabbed the boxes that contained things like kitchen utensils, cleaners, and laundry detergent. I headed to the house with a mission: get set up quickly and efficiently. Little did I know that when I opened the front door I would find that the cleaning crew did less than a stellar job. The floors weren’t even swept, let alone mopped, and the kitchen cabinets were so filthy that I actually dry heaved a little. I nearly lost my marbles when I opened a cabinet to find bugs and dirt so thick, that I eventually gave up and decided not to use that particular cabinet. The jury is still out on how to handle that one.
I spent the entire day cleaning, getting nothing on my agenda finished. I was already set back an entire day according to my OCD schedule. It was only going to get worse.
Day 2 rolled around and we picked up the moving truck bright and early. I made the mistake of putting my husband in charge of recruiting a little muscle to help us move the big furniture, because come moving day, there was no one in sight. “Didn’t you say you had some people coming,” I asked. “Well, I had a couple of people say they would come help,” he replied. I knew we were on our own.
An hour later, I decided that no one was coming to help and this stuff wasn’t going to move itself, so I was going to have to man up and get it done. The first three pieces we moved weren’t so bad. Then I threw my back out moving the couch. I winced in pain for a minute or two, but kept moving on.
When the day was over, all the big furniture and appliances were moved in, but I was a mess. I had bruises all over my body, a pulled back, cuts and dried blood all over my hands, but I was determined to do what I had moved in here for. I smelled like a wildebeest, but I instantly felt better when I popped the top on a beer and sat my stinky behind down on a chair in the sand.
I listened to the sounds of the water, and watched the boats go by. In the blink of an eye, the horrible weekend that we had just endured was all worth it. This place was once my bliss when we lived here almost three years ago, and nothing had changed. There’s just something about the sun setting on the water while you can feel the sand between your toes that makes everything seem calm.
Two days later, I am still making trips from the other house with loads of little things that never seem to have a place. Each load I take never seems to make the remaining pile smaller. I contemplated selling it with the house or having a “house” sale instead of a garage sale.
It may take me a week or even a month, but I’ll get it done. As long as it doesn’t cut into my “cocktail” hour at sunset.
In the end, we now have a mortgage and rent, not to mention moving expenses, deposits, transfers, etc. It’s a little scary to look at our budget, as we have put ourselves into a tight spot for the next couple of months until our house either sells or gets a tenant.
But the thing I’ve learned from all of this is that is you want something bad enough, go get it. Don’t wait until it’s too late to find your happiness. Life is short. In just four short days, our attitudes are better, I’m sleeping better, and we are more affectionate towards one another. We wake up happy and relaxed, and have already spent more time outside with our family then we have in the past year.
We may be broke for a while, but being a beach bum suits me just fine.