Can I Hitch a Ride?

Rob and Megan assembling bookcase as Noah snoozes

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During times  of major transitions in our lives, synchronicities tend to flourish, our energy is more intense and focused, things manifest more quickly. We wrote about this phenomenon in 7 Secrets of Synchronicity, and experienced it when we moved our daughter to Orlando over January 8-9.

Megan graduated from college last May, moved back home, took a part-time job, and started applying for jobs in her preferred field, animal behavior/training. She landed an internship at Disney, training dolphins and manatees, and it starts January 12. This is her first experience of living on her own in an apartment.  She chose downtown Orlando, where everything is within walking distance and there’s a real sense of neighborhood, albeit a vertical one with neighbors greeting each other in elevators rather than across backyard fences.

Through an online service, she found a roommate, V,  an auditor who already lives in Orlando and is a few years older than Megan. V hunted for apartments in the price range they had agreed upon and found an unfurnished two bedroom/two bath place. V already has living room furniture, so Megan only needed bedroom furniture – i.e, she didn’t have to furnish an entire apartment.  They couldn’t move in until January 9 and Rob had to be back home by the 10^th for the beginning of a new meditation class. That gave us a day to get the job done. Crunch time.

Here’s how it went:

On the 8^th, we drive up to Cassadaga to stay for a night (that’s for another post) and figure we’ll head out early on the 9^th (day of the full moon!) to get Megan moved in. And moving in means this: unloading everything that’s in a car, a van, and a top carrier into a ninth floor apartment; buying a queen size bed; a chest of drawers, a desk, a bookcase, and some household items.

The bed is a must. We must find one and somehow transport it ourselves or she’ll be sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag for a week, maybe two. Beds, we found out, are not delivered overnight. Plus, the condo association would charge an additional $100 to use the loading dock! That’s  a surprise.

We have both dogs with us. Noah, the retriever has been sick and is on meds and we don’t want to ask our neighbors to take care of  him or Nika, the pup, for two nights. They are already watching the cats.

When we arrive at the apartment building at 11:30 AM on the 9^th, (so much for an early start), we’re told that a move in is supposed to be reserved, usually happened between 1 and 5 PM, and costs $100. We balk. A hundred for what?  A padded elevator for our exclusive use.  But the guy at the desk says we can move in immediately, 90 minutes early, so we pay the hundred and drive our cars into the unloading garage of the building.  The extra 90 minutes is our first lucky break.

Lots of irritating security in this building. All tenants carry something called a FOB  that gets you in and out of the labyrinthine garages, elevators, hallways.  So we trek back and forth between the garage and the elevators, FOBBING  every time we need to get through another door, the dogs hurrying along with us. The MacGregor carnival act.  Rob frets about our limited time to move in. How are we going to get a mattress and box springs and  a chest of drawers and transport them in our van and unload them before five?  And with two dogs along, how are we going to fit all this stuff in the van?

Every time we make a trek, we pass a mattress just standing upright against the wall. Beautiful mattress, a queen, looks brand new. The first couple of times, we ignore it, figuring it belongs to someone who is moving in. Then we begin to take in the details. It’s deliciously soft. Lean against it, test it, sink your fist into it,  press your cheek against it. Wow. Really nice. Rob notices that it’s resting against a wall next to a pile of old carpet that was obviously being disposed. So he asks one of the maintenance guys if it belongs to someone. He replies that it’s being tossed out and its ours, if we want it.

Not only is the mattress new and free, it’s the manifestation that makes everything else possible logistically. We’re able to obtain all the other stuff  we need in one trip; finish before our 5 PM deadline, when our loading dock closes; save at least $400-$500 on a mattress, another hundred bucks for a delivery.

We also somehow get the box spring for $90 instead of $150, savings enough to pay for a metal frame with wheels. We find a chest of drawers, a discounted floor display that we can take with us. We strap the box spring on the roof rack. Everything else fits, even with the two dogs.  We have extra time now and take the dogs for a walk along the lake and see flocks of swans so accustomed to people that they come up close to shore, hoping for snacks. A pair of black swans follow us as we walk along the shore. I take them as a good sign for this new chapter in Megan’s life.

The next morning, we hit Target and Office Max and buy the other stuff Megan needs, including a combo computer desk and bookshelf and chair, and all of it has to be assembled. While Rob and Megan do that, I make some sandwiches and then unpack  boxes and suitcases and get things in the bathroom put away, shower curtain up, and clothes hung or in  drawers.

By 12:30, we say our emotional good-byes out on the street where the van is parked. Hard, this is hard, different than when she left for college. Feels permanent.

In just 25 hours, we were able to get Megan settled in, with a full fridge, a workable kitchen, personal belongings arranged, a computer desk and even a chair to sit on, and a divine bed. It was that mattress that made the difference, just standing against the wall in the unloading garage, a kind of  Jack Kerouac with his thumb stuck out. Can I hitch a ride?

You bet, Jack. Any time.