FISCHER: Home for Christmas

By Travis Fischer, tkfischer@charlescitypress.com

There’s no place like home for the holidays and, after this weekend, I have a new place to call home.

I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.

For half a year now I’ve been living in a transitional state with my possessions split between my apartment here in Charles City and what remained in my old home in Hampton.

While I have nothing but nice things to say about my neighborhood and my neighbors, it was never intended to be a permanent living situation. It’s been a long year living with just the bare necessities while so many of my things have been left behind or boxed away.

Saturday was the big day. I had everything all planned out. My brother was going to meet me at my previous house and we would, along with my former roommate, collect the rest of my things and bring them to my new apartment. Then we’d do the same with my possessions at my other previous residence.

At long last, I would be whole again.

So of course, right before I leave, I get a disturbing message from my former roommate. He is down with the sickness.

Fine. One pair of hands down. That’s okay. So long as he stays in his room so nobody else gets sick, we can be in-and-out with the rest of my stuff in no time.

Of course, when I get to Hampton, I notice my brother hasn’t said anything in the family group chat all morning. Eventually I give him a call because I need both his hands and his truck. He groggily answers and informs me that he’s in even worse shape than my roommate.

And it’s snowing.

No plan survives the battlefield, but this is ridiculous.

At this point my help for the day consists of my mother, who has many positive qualities and useful abilities, but stairs and lifting heavy objects are not among them.

Still, it was too late to back out. This was happening one way or another. I didn’t have my brother’s truck, but I still had a borrowed company van to fill.

And fill it I did. Three times. Loading everything from bookshelves to bags of groceries. And the books. My poor, neglected books that have been confined to boxes for the better part of a year.

Heavy boxes.

It took three van loads on Saturday and another dozen trips in my car on Sunday to finish the job, but eventually it all got moved. At long last, I’m in the new place.

Actually getting it all unpacked and sorted will have to wait until I can move my arms again.

There’s still a lot to do. I predict the next couple weeks will an unending sequence of me saying out loud “Now where did I put that?” To say nothing of trying to figure out exactly where I want things to be in the first place.

In the meantime, it’s just nice to be whole again.

— Travis Fischer is a news writer for the Charles City Press and needs to dig out his holiday lights.