On wrapping things up and saying goodbye

By: LOUISE ESOLA - Staff Writer | Friday, June 16, 2006 10:43 PM PDT ∞

Oh, the joy of moving!

Thump! Kerplunk! THUMPALUMP!

*&^%$#@! $%^!

(There go ALL the heavy books I piled in a small box, whose bottom I did not apply tape to as well as I should.)

I believe there comes a time in any relocation when setting the old place on fire, contents and all, seems to be a good way to end the absolute torment of having to wrap everything you own in newspaper and bubble wrap. Sure, that would qualify as arson and insurance fraud, but hey, it's better than having to go through, organize and pack up the kitchen junk drawer: home to screwdrivers, pencils, expired coupons, old batteries (why did we save these?), and two-year-old Election Day fliers.

In case you missed last week's column, I am moving to Chicago with my husband, who recently got a job there. This is the last time you will see me on Page Two of the Saturday North County Times.

Over the last seven days, I received many letters, e-mails and calls from readers who wished me well, said they can't wait to see me again ("Are you going to write a book?" "Syndicate?"), and who reminded me that Chicago is mighty cold!

I apologize if some of you did not hear back from me; I have been very busy repacking all my books.

I am organizing this move by myself, since my husband has been busy training for his new job all week. I am not complaining, for there are three reasons why going at this alone is a good thing:

(1) My husband is a fan of "integration packing" in that he likes to carelessly box delicate porcelain with the kitchen knives;

(2) He also has a penchant for packing away such vital documents as useless 7-Eleven receipts and electric bill stubs from 1997; and

(3) We want our marriage to last.

Moving sure is a stressful, bickering-inducing venture. It's right up there next to adultery and alcoholism, I think.

I know what some of you are thinking: Geez, Louise, why didn't you just hire a moving company?

Well, with his company footing the bill for the relocation, this option was attractive at first. I imagined serving cold lemonade to movers in work boots, watching others carefully wrap my dishes and label boxes. I wouldn't have broken one nail!

My dreams were shattered when I researched the scams associated with hundreds of moving companies. Various Web sites ---- movingscam.com is the obvious one ---- publicize such horror stories as: "I was moving to Palm Beach and my things wound up in Puerto Rico" to "They took a detour to Oregon to steal my grandmother's Oldsmobile. That was NOT in the contract!"

"They accidentally wrapped my wife in cellophane" was my favorite.

After much consideration and nail-biting, I thought to myself: We'll handle this one on our own. Instead of a U-Haul, do-it-yourself move, we decided on large relocatable storage units, otherwise known as moving "pods." They drop off the containers, we load them, they pick them up, they drive them, they deliver them and we unload them.

By the way, if you've had a bad experience with this method, I don't want to hear about it.

Plus, I won't be around. (Sniff, sniff.)

After we pack up the containers on Sunday, we drive off on Monday.

I am truly sad about this departure. I am not kidding when I tell you that I've cried several times already, and that I will probably weep as I say "adios" to California at 65 miles per hour on the interstate. Like any change in life, there are a lot of uncertainties: Will I find a job in Chicago doing what I love? Will we find a good city apartment at a reasonable price? Will my husband abandon me at a rest stop in the middle of Nebraska?

I really hate goodbyes. You never know what to say; what you want your last words to be.

Since I'm still in California as I type this final column, I think I ought to borrow from the great words of Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger:

Hasta la vista ---- baby.

Louise Esola can be reached at louise.esola@yahoo.com.