A friend of mine is moving this weekend, one of the coldest this winter. I have done a lot of moving myself, both as a volunteer and the one being moved.
My husband was a restless sort. We moved a dozen times over the years. Some of our homes were a stopgap, like my sister’s basement, on Morley Trail in northwest Calgary. He was convinced that the next house was a good deal, even though we knew it was slotted for demolition. We moved in with some trepidation, not knowing how long we had. It turned out to be over a year and then we had the desperation of finding something else quickly. Again we settled on a temporary location.
Through a co-worker, we learned of an elderly lady who rented out her upstairs in the area. We had the upper floor of a once grand house in a rundown section. It sat on a short avenue with a few neighbours, sharing the block with a fire hall and the roar of constant traffic.
The landlady was sickly and unable to do the stairs. She put her bed in the corner of her dining room. We had the two bedrooms, a large old-fashioned bathroom with a deep claw foot tub, a tiny living space and a cabin-sized kitchen tucked under the eaves. We were also there only one year.
I moved to Peace River for over a decade, back to Calgary for a year at SAIT, crowding in with my brother and my two gawky teens. I had to return to Peace River to honour my portion of the grant I received.
When I was ready to come home to Olds, my dad and my sister came to retrieve me. I had rented a smallish U-Haul trailer. To ensure that all would fit, I marked off the dimensions on my dining room floor and began packing in items. I ended up parting with my solid wood chairs, hoping that once I settled, I would be able to replace them.
I’ve since participated in moving my parents many times, both together and later mom alone. We hauled their accumulated belongings from a home of over 30 years into a condo. After eight years we moved them into the old lodge, then separately into the new facility where mom remained for one and a half years, although dad never actually lived there. Mom moved on to Sunrise Village, then Bethany in Red Deer and back to Olds long-term care.
The family arrived in various groups to assist with each move. We have an assortment of photos, rooms emptying and new ones refilling. The effort of downsizing is a good exercise. We all have too much: scrapbooks, albums, books we might read some day. I have weeded mine out the last move, but they seem to be multiplying when my back is turned. I have totes and bags bursting with skeins of multi-coloured yarn. Most of the yarn is donated to help me in my afghan crafting for our mission at church.
My last move was nearly three years ago. I sold my duplex to my son and was able to relocate when I found the right space, not a make-do home. I was packed and ready for several months. In fact I had to dig through the stacked boxes for Christmas and then repack.
That year was surprisingly warm. February was already experiencing temperatures in the high teens. I moved the end of April and was so relieved to accept the keys in the morning. We were finished by 1 p.m. and mostly unpacked by mid-afternoon. It was already extremely hot.
I had a group from the church, strong backs, borrowed trailer and a visiting pastor directing the operation. One of my sisters helped me with the move. We each had our vehicles loaded before the trucks and trailer arrived.
My other sister came for several days and she and my friend assisted with the unpacking and organizing. Judy and I went back to the house to vacuum and retrieve those items left in the hall closet. We were able to recycle all those boxes and say goodbye to my home. I had lots of great memories there but more to create here.
– Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
