Well Shucky Darn

First weekend of the month and move in/move out time. Sucks when it happens during a March blizzard and -5°.

Sure glad it wasn't me!

The Move

Done!  Thursday I picked up a small U Haul truck. Cost me $59 for the day (I always take their overpriced insurance – still about the price of a case of beer). Hired two men out of a temp labor shop. Both were “on paper” but were decent workers. Two loads for the five miles between the old digs and the new place. One more trip to take my middle son’s stuff to a storage shed I’ve rented for years.

He’s moved out a year and a half ago but still hasn’t picked up all of his stuff. (Yeah, I know I shouldn’t let him slide but I’m an indulgent parent).

The new place is quite nice. Brad new. All of us here are the very first residents.

https://hamiltonpropertiescorporation.com/locations/peakview-trails

Once again my dislike of the government, at any level, was reinforced. The place is operated by the county housing authority. One vastly overworked woman was on site to process the 96 units. 

A “compliance” officer located in Denver had to sign off on everything. Said functionary wanted “pay stubs”. Fuck! It has been years since I worked a job with pay stubs.  Getting the paperwork in the fashion wanted was a PITA. They had already decided as a productive citizen I made too much money. Dropped the medical courier job and had document that. It wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon, 1/30 I was approved. I had to be out of where I was living 1/31.

Courtesy of my sister I had a plan “B”. Those who know me well know how much I hate “pulling things out of my ass”. I plan, checklist, timetable, etc. Many readers will understand I operate in a CPA/CPM method.

 My sister calls this over thinking.

While I dropped the medical courier job, I continued to work off the books until they found a replacement. Spent today training him. Now I really am done.

The unpacking and organizing will consume the coming week.

About 2/3s of the residents are females, all over 62. Many have ankle biter dogs. Several are busy organizing this and that. I suspect my social life will take an uptick. 

Maybe more?

Going Green

A poll published in our local rag.

POLL

Would you ever consider buying an electric vehicle?

·         Only when Gov. Polis pays for mine. (32%, 178 Votes)

·         No. I like a combustion engine. (26%, 144 Votes)

·         Maybe when the technology gets better. (25%, 142 Votes)

·         Yes. They're great. (17%, 98 Votes)

Vote

In other news, I will be tied up for the next two days moving my worldly possessions.

Older Is Wiser? (Update)

Yesterday the lad got moved completely. Today he needs to clean his old place and return the keys.

My involvement? A text and two phone calls.

Love it when a plan comes together.

Older is Wiser?

Middle son is moving next week. My help consists of stroking a check to some local movers with a truck and trailer. Beyond that he is on his own. I’m getting too old and soft for moving.

Made me to remember my father. We had purchased a house about five miles from our apartment and I had moved all but the heavy stuff. My father showed up unannounced. He was on his way to Oregon for two weeks of fishing. He decided to help.

“Where is your furniture dolly”, he asked?

“What’s that”, was my reply?

Nothing was said as we drove to a rental place and got a dolly but the unspoken thoughts came loud and clear. Something along these lines.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnNSy6CqTcU

The next time we moved I bought both a hand truck and a furniture dolly, both of which I still own.

As a side note, here is hoping 2018 is an epic year for you and yours.

Adventures in Moving

Following Rev. Paul’s move to their new home sparked a few memories.

http://www.mooseintheyard.com/

Growing up my family must have moved at least a dozen times if not more. When I was in the 7^th grade my parents were able to buy a small ranch where they stayed for several years. My father often said the best way to move was with a 5 gallon can of gasoline and a book of matches.

1970's  found my bride and I living in a West Salt Lake City apartment. We bought a house in Granger and were in the process of moving when my father showed up. He was on his way to a fishing trip in Oregon but pitched in to help with the move. All the light stuff was already moved but the heavy furniture remained.

  “Where is your hand truck” my father asked?

   “Huh” was my reply.

Off we went to a rental yard and got a furniture hand truck. Damned if it didn’t make things easier and faster. Of course, there was the whole sotto voice remarks about raising a dumb kid, the picking up  the car and setting it on the jack, etc. Still the help was most appreciated.

When we relocated to Seattle, I bought a used International 18’ box truck for the move. We got everything in it except the dog house. That got lashed to the back. Spoiled the otherwise professional look I believe.

That truck paid for the move. A plumbing contractor bought it for twice what I paid for it and was happy to get the truck. I was happy to sell it, profit or not, because I used it to commute for three weeks. Fun, fun, fun on Seattle hills and narrow streets.

After each move I swear it is my last one. I will undoubtedly be saying it again.

The definitive bumper sticker.

   “Yes that is my truck. No I won’t help you move”

One hazard in writing a blog is being sidetracked. While looking for a photo came across this.

http://oldcarandtruckpictures.com/PickupTrucks/1960-1973.html

Two hours later returned to the search.

Seems fully restored El Caminos can bring as much as $100,000. Maybe less for this one.

http://www.yakimaherald.com/news/local/classic-vehicle-rolls-over-its-owner-ends-up-in-rosa/article_184252fa-1529-11e6-ac02-03db5e944597.html

Anybody interested in a project?

Probably should quit about now.

Free Cheese Central

After twelve years in a “lower socioeconomic” neighborhood, I’m preparing to move. The initial attraction was, and remains, cheap rent. For ten of those twelve years, I was on the road most of the time. The joke was, my clothing lived here. Now, the landlord wants to take advantage of the gentrification of the neighborhood, fix up the dump, and move in his sister. Oh well, I’m tired of the place, and the twelve steep steps up to the deck and entrance don’t favor my arthritic knees. Despite the upgrading of the neighborhood due to the outflow of illegal  immigrants, this is still Free Cheese Central.

Before I got too disgusted with the Democratic Party to continue attending meetings, I became acquainted with many people in the neighborhood. That is why I feel free to call it Free Cheese Central.

 I’m living in a Progressive paradise judging by my neighbors. The occupant of the unit below me is on disability, receives Section 8, food stamps, Medicaid, and free or reduced utilities. She has been married five times to three different men, proving that some men are slow learners. She has five adult children. There is a parade of men who appear to be halfway house residents visiting her. I will grant that, for her age, she looks “hot” in a trashy way. Of course, dressing like a sexy teenager when you are fifty may not be the best look. When she worked, she was a bartender, and she dresses like she is on her way to work every day. None of this bothers me. What bothers me is she is a negative, passive aggressive professional victim and a viscous gossip who doesn’t mind her own business.

Next door I have a sixty year old hippie, a mental health counselor with a huge temper issue, and perpetual student. As long as she can get student loans, she is in school. Last I heard, she was going for a doctorate. She will never live long enough to pay back those loans, but she gets enough to live on plus her work earnings.  She has several dogs, none that has ever been groomed, cats, finches, fish, and a cockatiel, all in a one bedroom 800 sq. ft. house. In her yard there is a greenhouse, three or four chicken coops,  and several chickens. Her place is overgrown with unkempt flower beds. She feeds the squirrels and the squirrel population in our block needs to be seen to believed. Need I say, Hillary is “her girl”? She loathes me for being a knuckle dragging misogynist NRA member who is homophobic. I’m not homophobic. I will call a duck a duck. She seems to think she can go all wretched on me and is horribly offended that I won’t “take it”; that I’ll tell her what trees make shingles. Two views of her yard.

I haven’t decided just where I will move, but will probably stay in the area. Most likely, the move will be a few miles North of my present location.

The moving won’t be too bad as I’ve never been one for accumulating many possessions.

Blogging will be sporadic, unless something really pisses me off. Your patience will be appreciated.