I’m Moving, Moving, Moving

Tracy is, too, but right now I’m doing a lot of the work, and I’ll explain why to start this post. 

An effect of the type of hyperthyroidism I had (before surgery; happy to report my labs are immediately back to normal) is sudden muscle loss. This summer when the thyroid nodules started over-producing hormone, I thought I was experiencing a side effect of menopause. An Ob/Gyn I met recently said that everyone thinks everything is menopause these days, thanks to TikTok. (She jokes her patients’ motto is, “[Complaint, complaint] because: Menopause.”)

Gotta admit I was a sucker, too. Testosterone is the big hormone du jour among women my age, and my current endocrinologist called me out on that. She asked me, “If your muscles weren’t coming back, why did you not only keep taking testosterone but increase your dose?!?” Yeah, call me a social media sheep. Frankly, I was so horrified at the sight of myself that I wasn’t really thinking.  (This was when that neurology drug had me tight, too.)

In three months I lost all the muscles I had at the moment, which wasn’t the most I’d ever had, like when I was hitting it hard at the gym before the road, but it was still a lot due to my lifestyle of high physical activity. Believe me, when you move a trailer once a week and set up and tear down camp and pack up and unpack and hitch up and unhitch, all every week, then hike or kayak or bike in between, you’re active.

Suddenly, I looked a lot like my 75 year old mom who barely walked around her memory care unit. I remember clearly that I bought a short hiking skirt in Utah, then in Colorado I wondered what I’d been thinking. Then, in Wisconsin, I was desperately walking five miles a day (in pants; the skirt had been packed away securely), and, nevertheless, my knee was swollen like it had zero muscle support. Which turned out to be the case, thanks to that “toxic” nodule on my thyroid, which now is no more.   

This is a long way around explaining why I’m doing all the work right now as we move slowly from the apartment into the house. I need to work hard to rebuild my body.  Also, Tracy is, I think, literally sickened by the idea of the house being such a money pit. And I’m enthusiastic, so here I go. 

The day after I got back from Virginia, I packed up everything I thought we would not need in the apartment for the three weeks we had left.  

I loaded it all onto a cart the apartment provides, then pushed and lifted it all into the truck bed. Tracy drove to the house, and I unloaded.

Each day at the house I would pile boxes at the foot of the two staircases (to go in the basement and to go upstairs), and I lugged it all. Those basement steps are tricky, have I mentioned that enough? After the stair climbing, I unpacked everything in a general manner, knowing more would come. 

Then, duh. I looked at the calendar and saw we really have two weeks left, not three. So I packed another round of the same type of stuff. And I hauled it all onto the ornery cart (again) and into the truck.  

Back at the apartment, I looked around. Really, everything left for two weeks of living is exactly what we need. What’s more (or less!), it’s now easier for me to find clothes I want, to grab dishes, to find stuff in the bathroom the cabinet, the closet. Less really is more. 

What the hell was I doing with all that stuff I packed, those two truck loads? Where did I get it all, in just six months or however long it’s been? Consumerism is depressing, man. All that junk is almost all mine, too. Tracy is still living like a traveling monk. 

At the house, I’ve been imagining where stuff should go within the current limitations. Like, the downstairs linen closet is iffy in a myriad of ways, so I’m not putting anything in there. The current kitchen has no pantry. There is no coat closet. It’s wild: the house is bigger than the apartment, but seeing as how it’s 100 years older, it has a lot less storage and a lot fewer conveniences.  

But, an entire basement sure is handy. It’s not finished, you’re taking your life in your hands on the stairs, but it’s good storage. 

As I spend these days in the house, I’m making a list of things we’ll need in it no matter what we chose to do with renovations. I mean, when we hear what the renovation bid is and decide if we stay or go, everything is upended no matter what, but until then we do need to move in and live there. 

We’ve started stopping at one of Madison’s two huge Habitat for Humanity ReStores when we’re out. We bought this strange “modern up top and Bauhaus down bellow” table to start us out. Tracy likes it, and it was cheap, so welcome to our new house, first piece of real furniture.  Everything now revolves around you. 

And by now, there’s a week and a half left before the final move, when Tracy rents a moving trailer and Doug’s son helps him move the furniture. Before then, I’m planning on one truck trip with small furniture I can handle, then another truck trip with all our final stuff packed in the last of the boxes. 

I love how I’m spreading all this moving out, little by little instead of doing it in one day. This way I stay organized, and, heck, I have the time. It’s given me an excuse to learn the public bus system, too. After Tracy drops me and the boxes at the house, I stay and unpack to my heart’s delight, then take the bus back to the apartment when I’m exhausted. It’s a good system, for rebuilding my muscles and for wrapping my head around moving into this uncertain house.