Job Opening: Christmas Decorations Taker Downer

I have a big ugly bruise on the inside of my right arm and I don’t know for sure how it got there.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  For instance, I can unequivocally state that I did not let anyone practice karate kicks on me. Nor did I fall out of bed last night.  And I’m fairly certain that I haven’t walked into any telephone poles lately.

What I think happened was that I sustained this horrible injury while I was taking down Christmas decorations over the weekend. 

Yeah, it was probably when I was hauling the heavy box containing the 7-1/2 foot artificial Christmas tree back down the stairs to store it until next year.  That sucker weighs about fifty pounds.  And if it doesn’t, you can’t prove it, so I’m sticking with the fifty.  Felt like it, anyway.

So now I’m thinking that maybe being the Christmas Decorations Taker Downer is too dangerous a job for me.  That task is probably better suited for a big, strong man – right?! 

Oh, who am I kidding?  There is NO WAY Vince is going to be suckered into taking over that job.  I could barely get him to agree to help me remove the ornaments.  And I think he was glaring at me when we had to unwind the extra lights on our pre-lit tree, but I can’t be certain because the branches were partially blocking my view. 

But, hey, it wasn’t my fault that half of the pre-lit tree wouldn’t light.  At the time I was in a hurry to get that tree decorated, so I didn’t try to figure out why they wouldn’t light, I just grabbed another strand of lights and wrapped ‘em around the tree. 

Clearly, I wasn’t thinking long-term about how all those strands of lights might get tangled.  Oops.

Oh well. I’ve never been very good at checking each light to make sure it is seated properly in its little plastic housing, nor can I ever locate those little replacement bulbs that come with every strand of lights.  Hey, I’m no engineer, people.  I’m just a woman who likes a pretty, well-lit Christmas tree.

Besides, I always buy lights that purportedly stay lit even when one bulb burns out.  Yeah, right. What a bunch of hooey.

So big bruise notwithstanding, at least all the decorations have been removed and stored in their plastic bins to await Christmas 2013.  At which time I will, of course, forget that half the lights on the pre-lit tree don’t work and I will wonder where the extra strands of lights are, and when I do find them and put them on the tree I will get them all tangled up again and Vince will probably glare at me when we try to remove them.

And so it goes… 

But I have to admit that I miss all the twinkling lights and pretty decorations.  The corner where our Christmas tree stood looks rather barren and empty – even with the table and cool amber vase that have taken the tree’s place. 

Believe me, I’ve toyed with the idea over the years of keeping the Christmas tree up all year long and changing the lights and decorations for whatever holiday approaches. Red and pink twinkling lights and red hearts for Valentine’s Day, green lights and 4-leaf clovers and leprechaun ornaments for St. Patty’s Day, pastel eggs and bunny ornaments for Easter and so on. 

The problem with that idea is that (a) it would require a whole lot of extra boxes of decorations and lights, and (b) it would require too much work on my part.  Yep, just call me lazy.  I do not wish to put that much effort into decorations for anything beyond Christmas.  And I’m even beginning to question whether I’m going a tiny bit overboard on that one.

Besides, no matter what color lights and decorations were on the tree people would still walk into our home and say, “Your Christmas tree is still up?” they’d ask with a puzzled look on their faces.  “It’s July, Jane. What’s up with that?”

And I’d have to shake my head at their denseness and point out all the little flags and strands of red, white and blue lights that so clearly indicate it’s an Independence Day Tree.

So…no.  I’m glad the tree is down and friends won’t be secretly calling me the Crazy Christmas Tree Lady.  With the big bruise.

But still. I think I’m going to hire someone to decorate for me next year. And take down the decorations once the holiday is over.  I don’t like big, ugly bruises.  And I’m lazy.  And I don’t need my husband glaring at me.

The First Ever Jane’s Domain Trilogy. (Watch Your Back Star Wars!)

I hope I’m not sounding like a broken record here, but I thought I’d write one more blog about our house hunting/buying process. We’ll call it my trilogy, okay? 

Hey, it worked for Star Wars. 

Not that I’m comparing my little blog to Star Wars or anything.  I think Star Wars raked in a buck or two, while my little blog has raked in, well, nothin’.  Zip.  Zero. Bupkus.

Hmm. So, um, why am I writing this blog again??  Oh yeah, simply because I like to write.

Well, anyway, let’s see where I left off last time.  Ah yes – I was discussing proper footwear and the state of one’s pedicure when house hunting. 

So the other important thing I learned when house hunting is this: location, location, location.  

Never heard that one before, have you? 

Nah, I’m just kidding.  Everyone has heard that one.  Even newborns.  If they had the ability to speak seconds after their birth, those would be their first words.  (Kind of a scary thought for their moms, though, huh?)

But I digress. 

There were lots of steps in between removing my shoes at the entrance of a complete stranger’s home and guiltily peeking in their closets and cabinets to choosing a house and then finally moving into it.  Maybe I’ll write more about those steps at some point (which totally shoots my trilogy plan), but I’m going to go with the biggest lesson of all in the house buying process.  And that is:

HIRE. PROFESSIONAL. MOVERS.

Sorry for yelling, but it’s that important.  You need to hire professional movers even if it means you have to sit on your dirty carpet for two months after moving in because you have no extra money to buy that coveted leather sectional that would go perfectly in your brand new living room. 

I hired professional movers over 10 years ago when I moved into my townhouse and swore I would never personally carry boxes into a new abode again. 

So I stated this very opinion to my husband.  Rather emphatically, I might add.  He nodded.  He seemed to understand my viewpoint.  And then he proceeded to rent a truck from U-Haul.  He hired his football player son and his son’s football player friend to haul boxes from our old place, into the truck, out of the truck and into our new house.

Now, believe me, I’m not slamming their efforts in any way.  Those kids worked like machines most of the day and did an amazing job.  But it simply wasn’t enough.  Perhaps an additional strapping football player or two was needed for the job, but we were fresh out of available football players.  So it took several more car loads throughout the following week to get all our stuff from Point A to Point B. 

And we had a few casualties, of course.  A wine glass here and a decorative vase there.  Fortunately, no heirlooms were harmed during the moving process. 

But none of that was the major problem.

The major problem was that I had to haul boxes right along with my husband and the boys.  And that is precisely why I wanted to hire professional movers.  You are not required to lift a single box when you hire professional movers.  In fact, they frown upon such interference from an amateur such as myself.  And, frankly, I am more than happy to be an amateur in any heavy lifting situation.

Had we hired professional movers, I would have been cheerfully unwrapping the china while sweaty men with the couch strapped to their backs asked me precisely where I wanted it positioned in the living room.  And all I would’ve had to do was point. 

Instead, I was a hot, sweaty, stringy-haired mess.  By the end of the day, I was clutching my aching back with one hand and throwing boxes clearly marked “Upstairs Bedroom” into the entryway of the house with the other because I refused to make another trip upstairs.

And my aching back lasted for days.  Weeks, even.  Oh, who am I kidding?  My back is STILL aching.

Moreover, I had so many bruises on my arms and shins from carrying heavy boxes and, in my exhausted state, running into walls while I was carrying those heavy boxes, I looked as if I had gotten into a physical altercation with someone.  

If I had, it probably would have been my coworker who smirked at me and said, “All unpacked?!” the morning after we returned the U-Haul truck.  Fortunately for him I don’t resort to violence in such situations.  I just do the withering stare thing that is oh so painful for the recipient.  Not.

Alas, we didn’t have any time to unpack before we had to pack a weekender bag and head to Cape Cod to celebrate my parents’ 60^th wedding anniversary.  Originally, it seemed like an inconvenient time for a mini-vacation, but in the end it was good.  Good to spend time with family.   Good to have the chance to celebrate my folks' 60 years of wedded bliss.  And good to allow the healing process to begin on all those bruises.  (My almost 9-year-old niece, by the way, gleefully counted each and every bruise.  She probably would've played connect-the-bruises with a Sharpie if I'd let her.) 

And she drew today's blog illustration.  If you can't see it clearly, the heading reads: "Hint: Don't  look like this after moving." And I think - but I'm not positive - that her Aunt Jane caricature is missing her right foot. 

Hmm.  Perhaps I exaggerated the whole moving experience just a tiny bit?

No.  No, I didn't.  

So I repeat: HIRE. PROFESSIONAL. MOVERS.