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Relocating

Moving is always something of an adventure, and this weekend was no different. After packing for what seems like weeks—the packing, at some point, became indistinguishable from the repairing, cleaning, and moving of piles of crap from one location to another that were all involved with the house-selling process—we relocated Heather to her new location at Schussman North. A few notes about the process:

  • Go ahead, make a reservation with U-Haul. It won’t matter. They’ll reserve you a truck at a location 37 miles away, and when you convince them to find you something just a bit closer, that location will lose all record of the reservation by the next morning. While you’re in the lobby of the U-Haul center, nobody will offer to help you find your reservation, but they will let you borrow their phone to call customer service. This is in the lobby of the large building with the “U-Haul” sign, yes. They’ll let you use their phone to call U-Haul. Thanks, guys. Your reservation is now at a location 40 miles away.
  • Phoenix, when judgement day does come, will be eradicated from human memory. It, like my U-Haul reservation, will simply never have existed at all. That’s what it gets for having highway planners who closed not one, but two northbound freeways this weekend. They didn’t just close a couple of lanes; that’s a hassle, but manageable. Instead, they closed the entire highway. And just when I thought I was back on the road again, with nothing between my 24-foot truck and parts north, they did it again. I’m telling you, nagivating a detour on Phoenix surface streets in a mobile blind spot is no fun.
  • We have a great, fantastic, lovely little place to live on the outskirts of Phoenix. It’s up in the pines, a block away from National Forest. There is much to be said for advances in design made since 1947—the master electric box is a wonder to behold. Unfortunately, I don’t get to live there until sometime in May. In the meantime, I’m holding down a skeleton house here in Tucson. I have a plate, a spoon, and an insulated mug. It would be a lot like camping, except I don’t have a sleeping bag; that’s in Flagstaff. It’s really quite empty around here.

So what’s next? I have a bit more than a month until the end of the semester. There’s grading and teaching to finish, and several weeks of dissertation tasks to complete. When all that is done, I’ll make one more move, to join Heather and the dogs up there in the higher country.