Week 1 – Heave, cram, wipe

Fucking crap. Crap, shit fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck shit. Godamn this fucking box and that fucking god-damned mother-fuck shit fucking tape. I hate this shit and I just want this mother fucking shit out of this fuck fuck. FUCK!

“Why the fuck are these mother-fucking files still sittingClick on image for slideshow here!” I yelled somewhere from the lower part of my lungs – the part that starts to get really mean without yelling – as though I were still exercising some restraint.

And in rare form, Jackie yelled back. For a brief moment we looked at each other wanting to stop — but couldn’t. This sucked ass I we wanted the fuck out.

But so it goes moving out and we were actually in the last hour of the last day of the last week and the past month of packing up, selling, stuffing, carrying, categorizing, squishing, cramming, vacuuming, placing, folding, ripping, heaving, organizing, lifting, stacking, giving away, ignoring, sweeping, hauling, marking, swearing, driving, dumping, bartering, hand-trucking, persuading, wiping, piling, dividing, loading, shuffling and the nit-picking it took to empty the house we built both and neither for ourselves and whomever would end up buying it from us.

That time came, and I can know say, has passed.

We four are sitting in the very last row of three seats on United flight 52 from Kona to San Francisco.

In between, we shacked up at the Four Season’s Hualalai and I can tell you it was worth every hundred dollar bill we and our generous realtor spent there. Let’s just say, with food, it runs well-over $1,000 per day.

But talk about a glorious contrast, much like our two kids, that made both experiences as much as anyone could have hoped or dared for.

Yes, we are now on the plane, exhausting great volumes of stress and relief upon our fellow passengers (Does “Airborne” protect against that, too?).

My brother has arranged for a car to meet us at SFO to bring us to his house, upon which we will descend like a fifty-pound sack of thumb-tacks until we pick up the trailer next weekend.

On Monday, I fly to Port of Spain, Trinidad to check out the boat, as well as meet the surveyor, broker and present owner of her. If all goes well, we will arrange to transfer ownership, and a tidy sum of money, to secure our home and mode of transportation for adventure for an indefinite slice of our lives.

We haven’t had a moment to think about what we are leaving behind, be it the house our friends or any of the other pieces of our lives, but I’m sure we will in the coming days and months.

For now we will concentrate on settling into our new mode of life as we hop in the trailer and tour the American Continent(s) while hurricane season rages.

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