My parents had been out for the weekend to help with some of the clean-up. It is truly mind-boggling how in even two years of living in one place, so much “stuff” can pile up and turn moving in/out/around into a monumental task. Shampooing carpets (yes, we shampooed carpets before six guys moved in), trimming trees with a pole-saw and a shoe tied to an electric extension cord, and wiping out cupboards.
Shakespeare said something about, “the best laid plans of mice and men”, but I’m not sure if it applies to our situation or if was even Shakespeare who said it. Our plan was to be on the road for Ohio that Monday afternoon. The guys, we found out, weren’t coming until the next Monday (25th) and we weren’t really ready to leave, in all honesty, by that particular Monday afternoon anyway.
By some stroke of providence, we sold our car on Tuesday. That may have introduced the subject too quickly, but suffice to say, we had been debating whether to get rid of our 97 Nissan Maxima, and it just so happened that a friend from Hesston and his wife were looking for one at the same time. It worked out for us that Krista’s dad and sister were coming out to Goshen for meetings on Wednesday the 19th and could take us back to Kidron with them, allowing us to part with our wheels early.
As an unnecessary aside, I will say that selling something that large for the first time in our lives was somewhat nerve-racking and telling for Krista and I. Nerve-racking in that there are now two of our friends driving around in a car that ran perfectly well for us, and we just pray that it continues to run perfectly well for them for another 500,000 miles. Telling in that it proved how little business sense the both of us possess. They were looking for a car, and when they told us this, they asked how much we wanted for the car. $3,500 I said. “Great,” he replied. “We have budgeted for $5,000.” (Obviously we were all relatively new to this process.) “Oh good,” I replied. “We’d be happy with even $3,000 because of the dings it has in the door.” Looking back, the haggling process in most used-card deals might be somewhat opposite of this exchange.
Car-less and, for all intents and purposes, homeless, we left Goshen with Terry and Bethany on Wednesday. We spent several short days with my parents, ate a meal with the Shues and made cameo appearances at Kidron Mennonite and Smithville Mennonite’s annual Camp Luz Sunday.
Monday the 25th arrived too quickly and by 7:00 am Krista and I were on the road back to Goshen in a mooched vehicle, my parent’s, to hand over the keys to our house to the aforementioned “guys” and sign some papers making things seem adult-like. If you want to try something surreal for a change in scenery, try coming back to a house that had been your home for two years, walking in with everything looking very sterile, devoid of most of the décor that makes it homey, and then hand it over to some people with the instructions to avoid making the neighbors angry. Two hours before the guys arrived, and while Krista and I had some time to check that most everything had been attended to, the silence of each room really spoke volumes about the closing of another chapter of our lives, and the uncertain beginning of another.
By 2:15 pm, the deed had been done, and we were officially homeless. We planned on spending the night at Krista’s cousins’ house (Jeremy and Laura) but for the next several hours, we faced the prospect of having really nowhere to go. Friends were at work or away and so we hung out at the Goshen College Library among other places before wandering to the Electric Brew. Mentioning this landmark reminds me of a trend that I am willing to bet is practiced by at least a handful of others besides my wife and I. This is the practice of using the excuse, “This is our last time here!” to justify over-spending, over-eating, or over-anything else at any place with an ounce of emotional appeal. My waistline of late is proof of that tradition’s pull at one particular Goshen landmark- The Chief. (Ice cream stand extraordinaire for those of you not lucky enough to have been there.) This brings up yet another point. Unless you want to eat a gross ton of toasted coconut ice-cream, make sure you know for sure that no one else plans on taking you out for another “last time” to the same ice-cream stop you had just been to three hours previously.
That seems like as solid wisdom as any to end on for now.
By some stroke of providence, we sold our car on Tuesday. That may have introduced the subject too quickly, but suffice to say, we had been debating whether to get rid of our 97 Nissan Maxima, and it just so happened that a friend from Hesston and his wife were looking for one at the same time. It worked out for us that Krista’s dad and sister were coming out to Goshen for meetings on Wednesday the 19th and could take us back to Kidron with them, allowing us to part with our wheels early.
As an unnecessary aside, I will say that selling something that large for the first time in our lives was somewhat nerve-racking and telling for Krista and I. Nerve-racking in that there are now two of our friends driving around in a car that ran perfectly well for us, and we just pray that it continues to run perfectly well for them for another 500,000 miles. Telling in that it proved how little business sense the both of us possess. They were looking for a car, and when they told us this, they asked how much we wanted for the car. $3,500 I said. “Great,” he replied. “We have budgeted for $5,000.” (Obviously we were all relatively new to this process.) “Oh good,” I replied. “We’d be happy with even $3,000 because of the dings it has in the door.” Looking back, the haggling process in most used-card deals might be somewhat opposite of this exchange.
Car-less and, for all intents and purposes, homeless, we left Goshen with Terry and Bethany on Wednesday. We spent several short days with my parents, ate a meal with the Shues and made cameo appearances at Kidron Mennonite and Smithville Mennonite’s annual Camp Luz Sunday.
Monday the 25th arrived too quickly and by 7:00 am Krista and I were on the road back to Goshen in a mooched vehicle, my parent’s, to hand over the keys to our house to the aforementioned “guys” and sign some papers making things seem adult-like. If you want to try something surreal for a change in scenery, try coming back to a house that had been your home for two years, walking in with everything looking very sterile, devoid of most of the décor that makes it homey, and then hand it over to some people with the instructions to avoid making the neighbors angry. Two hours before the guys arrived, and while Krista and I had some time to check that most everything had been attended to, the silence of each room really spoke volumes about the closing of another chapter of our lives, and the uncertain beginning of another.
By 2:15 pm, the deed had been done, and we were officially homeless. We planned on spending the night at Krista’s cousins’ house (Jeremy and Laura) but for the next several hours, we faced the prospect of having really nowhere to go. Friends were at work or away and so we hung out at the Goshen College Library among other places before wandering to the Electric Brew. Mentioning this landmark reminds me of a trend that I am willing to bet is practiced by at least a handful of others besides my wife and I. This is the practice of using the excuse, “This is our last time here!” to justify over-spending, over-eating, or over-anything else at any place with an ounce of emotional appeal. My waistline of late is proof of that tradition’s pull at one particular Goshen landmark- The Chief. (Ice cream stand extraordinaire for those of you not lucky enough to have been there.) This brings up yet another point. Unless you want to eat a gross ton of toasted coconut ice-cream, make sure you know for sure that no one else plans on taking you out for another “last time” to the same ice-cream stop you had just been to three hours previously.
That seems like as solid wisdom as any to end on for now.
