Last weekend was ... interesting. As in "May you live in interesting times."
Granted, there was some fairly severe (for this part of the world) winter weather going on. But it was disappointing to see just how many people who had promised to help with the move use the weather as an excuse not to. Yes, I can sympathize with the ones who were physically blocked in by ice, snow, downed trees, and broken power lines. But seriously, D - you couldn't walk four blocks to help pack and stage because "the weather is too nasty"? Besides, by Friday morning it was well above freezing and the rain had washed most of the snow and ice into Puget Sound. And with J's arm in a brace and sling, and B coughing up a kneecap every time he moved, they needed all the help they could get.
The helpers who did show up were awesome! They all worked their butts off in spite of bad weather and various ailments, and a lot more got done than we expected. And on Saturday morning, I made my usual inadvertent blood sacrifice - stabbed a finger with the utility knife trying to cut handholds in a box. It wasn't anything serious, but I did drip blood on one of the boxes. Within literally three minutes of me announcing that the "offering" had been made, the rain stopped, the wind died down, and the sun came out for the rest of the day. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. But when I announced on Sunday morning that I was not going to do it again, the rain returned and stayed all day ...
It was actually good to see just how much of the thirty-plus years' accumulation of stuff was not being moved. All the people who'd asked if they could leave things there "for a little while" and never came back were e-mailed with the news that the move was January 19th-20th-21st-22nd, and whatever was not claimed by the 22nd would be going to the dump. We estimate that almost one-third of what was in the house will end up at the dump or one of the local charities. And their new place is quite a bit smaller, so that anyone who asks if J and B can store anything for them will be told "No". I can really relate to that, as Big Guy has a relative who is a hoarder and who has tried repeatedly to use our place as a storage facility.
Apart from my jabbed finger, I only collected three bruises, which is a pretty low number for me. By the time I got home Sunday night, though, I was so stiff and sore all over that all I could do until this morning was lie on the couch and read or knit. Today (so far) I seem to be mostly recovered; the puncture has closed cleanly, the bruises are fading from purple to green, and most of my joints bend again. Just in time to help daughter J finish packing for her move next week. Yay.