Steinbeck wasn’t wrong … The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.
Saturday should have been the day my parents moved into their new senior-friendly apartment. I say ‘should have’ because it wasn’t the event I envisioned.
Over the weekend, my parents picked up the keys to their new apartment. Their plan, as they told it to my sister and me, was to “bring a few things over to start setting up” in advance of the movers bringing their furniture later in the week.
It sounded like a solid plan. Start small, but make some progress. My sister and I were on board.
To mark the occasion and show our support, we surprised them at the apartment with a bottle of champagne and a (very) small Christmas tree.
Our intention was to celebrate the moment, then do all the heavy lifting for them. We’d unpack their cars, go back to the house to get more boxes, then unpack said boxes, putting things away in cabinets and closets.
That was our plan, anyway.
This was the reality …
Our parents drove not one but two cars to the apartment, arriving with the following items:
- A 12-pack of Rolling Rock
- A box of pens, markers, and craft supplies
- A folding table
- Two boxes of wall hangings and empty picture frames
Not exactly the haul we were expecting.
And the best/worst part: The two boxes of wall hangings and picture frames were a mistake; they were supposed to be left behind for the estate sale scheduled for this weekend!
Needless to say, D and I were baffled. And frustrated. And then we couldn’t stop laughing about the absurdity of it all.
What were they thinking? Were they thinking? Neither of them is crafty, so why did they need a box of craft supplies? And a folding table, but no chairs? Where’s the logic in any of this?!
To salvage the day, D and I drove back to their house to grab more boxes while our parents drove around their new town to find a hardware store that duplicates keys.
Back in VS, we quickly figured out why our parents showed up with as little as they did … Nothing is packed yet. And I mean nothing. Not a pot or pan. Not a shirt or shoe. Not a toiletry, towel, or toothbrush. Not one thing.
We left with a couple of folding chairs and few of our mom’s summer dresses to store in a closet. I grabbed an unopened bottle of maple syrup and a spool of aluminum foil to take home. My sister did the same.
The day wasn’t a total loss, though. We measured their furniture, then taped it out in the new apartment, creating a layout for the movers to follow—whenever our parents finally schedule them to arrive. Oh, and we took them out to dinner in their new town.
Priorities.
As I drove home, lamenting the lack of progress (and the extra traffic, now that they’re further east on the island), I tried to remind myself how hard this transition is for my parents. I know deep down their procrastination—as frustrating as it is for my sister and me—is steeped in overwhelm and probably a little more sadness than they’re willing to admit. After all, that house holds over 50 years of memories (and way too many sets of holiday-themed dishes and houseplants).
There’s still two and a half weeks until closing day when the buyers take ownership and they become squatters in a home that’s no longer theirs. I guess we’ll try again next week to get the movers scheduled and them settled.
At least we don’t have to worry about packing any more pens.
—LJDT
