I ‘think’ my days of strong back, weak mind are done. Now it’s weak back to go with the weak mind, and being almost 70… It wasn’t this hard the last time I did this!!!
Volunteered to help somebody move yesterday. We got it done, but…
I feel like I’ve been shot at and hit. My back, hips, and knees are talking to me, and NOT politely!
It was only a 10 foot U-haul, but damn… Load out of climate controlled to a Conex, unload the stuff that was staying in the Conex, load the stuff that needed to go to Dallas, get everything strapped in (#@$$@# STRAPS… I want my GOOD straps I had in the military!) trying to beat the rain.
Drive to Dallas. In the rain… Get to the location and it’s a second floor apartment. But wait… There’s more!
Concrete composite stairs! Slicker than greased owl s**t! Got everything unloaded (finally after a few breaks to breathe, etc.). Then the fight through Dallas traffic to the U-Haul place to turn it in. The others took pain pills on the way back, but I was driving, so I waited until I got home.
Next time, I’ll throw money at them and tell them to hire somebody! Ouchie…
No good deed goes unpunished. Sounds like a good day to chillax and recover.
Old age aint for the weak, and it starts when it starts.
Glad you survived.
Where did all the kids who used to work for pizza and beverage go?
Oh, that was us. Neber mind.
Wait’ll you’re my age. I believe that’ll be next year.
When Kit Carson got the 1st Wagon Train to Santa Fe, he said “The cowards never started and the weak died along the way.” I’ve come to feel that way about getting old. Getting here is an accomplishment. But like you, I wish it didn’t hurt so much.
Take two Motrin and wash it down with stiff drink.
Repeat for as many days as necessary.
Eaton Rapids Joe, I had a pickup so I was always invited to the “party”.
My youngest brother and his family just moved across town on fairly short notice (finding a house that would work was near impossible, and the deadline to close on their old home was fast approaching). My parents and I spent 45+ hours packing stuff at their old home (saved an entire day paying movers by doing that) and then helping them move a ton of stuff. I think there were 2 U-haul trips plus 4 or 5 trips each in my mom’s van and my truck.
You know the old adage “Friends help you move, good friends help you move bodies”? I tell my friends call me when you have a body, I don’t help anyone move.
“Next time, I’ll throw money at them and tell them to hire somebody! Ouchie…”
My good fortune is an “in” with a temp agency. No break on the dinero but they make sure I get the best.
Yeah, gettin’ old ain’t for sissies, as my mom used to say.
Last summer, I had to move a good friend’s stuff out of his house in Round Rock. He wasn’t able to be there (for a good reason, he’s forgiven!), and he had helped pack up most things needing to go into boxes. He also made the arrangements for the truck rental (26 foot Penske one) and also arranged for a couple of young bucks to load the truck. It was in the mid to upper 90’s, but we managed to get it all loaded on one day, early enough that I had four or five hours to get down the road a bit that evening. Drove it all the way to the NC coast, then had a couple of friends help unload. I was pretty well wiped after all that….
I’m with you as far as throwing money at this sort of thing in the future…
I’ve found about aging is that when your body says “I’ll get back to you about that…” it’s now a TWO day delay instead of the overnight. An ‘active’ weekend of outdoor chores, or a dumb klunk to the limbs means that you will feel like you got run over by the disk harrows on TUESDAY morning, not MONDAY.
I moved myself the last time in 1992. In 2006, when we moved next, all the friends who helped me in ’92 were all like “Hey, well get a truck and….” I cut them off. “My back is screwed up, your knees are shot, you have back and neck problems and you have developed a nifty heart condition. No effing way.” I hired movers to move 95% of the stuff and moved a very specific and narrow selection myself.
Best money I had spent to date.
“Next time, I’ll throw money at them and tell them to hire somebody!”
I went that route a long time ago.
I saw a bumper sticker once that read, “Yes, this is my truck. No, I won’t help you move.”
“I saw a bumper sticker once”
Dammit, George! I was gonna say that!
When I moved to an apartment, I specifically went for a single-story so that there were no stairs or elevators and nobody below or above. Bad enough having people side to side, and there’s been some bad luck with those apartments (though the two older gentlemen on either side now are nice and quiet.)
I’ve never enjoyed stairs.
Nice thing about a one-story apartment is you put a plywood ramp up at the door and at the curb and just wheel stuff in.
It only took me a month to move from previous location to new location. One day to pack, one day to move, one day to moan in pain, repeat repeat repeat.
The next move will be either forced eviction and I’m bailing on everything or nice men with a big van because I won the Lottery or something (or, well, you know, the other type of van and we won’t talk about that…)
I would remark that “at your age you ought to know better,” but my family history and my personality indicates I’ll be at LEAST as stubborn about such things as you, if not more so.
Much kudos and ibuprofen to you and The Accent with a Mustache for helping out, though. I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes they lived closer to be able to lend another set of hands.
I literally feel your pain.
Now it’s weak back to go with the weak mind…
It’s funny when someone else says it.
I’m as old as you are. Been there, done that, never bought the pickup truck I wanted. These days I’m too old and busted up to do much more than drive the truck.
Last time I moved I rented a U-Haul, did my own boxing up and packing stuff and labeling, then hired two gorillas to ‘help’ me move. I overpaid them and was certain I got the best deal of my life. Well, the best deal that year, anyway.
Both men look like overly-large motorcycle outlaws. So while I’m inside doing some unpacking, my next-door neighbor rolls up and wanted to raise hell about my truck blocking the driveway. One look at Big John and she bolted inside.
Same day, we’re finished unloading and setting the furniture up, and just finished a nice barbecue dinner. I need to write each man a cheque, and so go out to my car to get an ink pen. It’s about 9:30 and dark. I look to my right and see a meat wagon picking someone up. I look to my left and see a naked female hiding in the shadows, about half a block away.
Okay, you know – I’ve seen worse, or stranger, or whatever. Then she trots over to talk to me.
Turns out she lives on the other side of me and is a few fries short of a happy meal. I convinced her to go back inside; I’d handle the problem.
I opted for whiskey and pain pills.
After the last time I moved I swore that if I leave here some way other than feet first it would involve a can of gasoline and a match. Too old for that crap.
All- Thanks for the ‘support’… 🙂
Posted from my iPhone.
I feel your pain, each and every day. I don’t mind getting old, its just my body ain’t taking it well. I swear there are days my damn eye lids hurt, thankfully Kentucky still make good bourbon, and it kills pain, if taken orally at even intervals.
I thought you knew better….
When we left the SF Bay area for Flyover, Oregon, our house sold *lot* faster than we planned, and the buyer wanted to get possession really fast. Closing was 15 days after we accepted the offer. (Talked the owner of the place we bought to go quickly, too, but he was more-or-less already moved out.)
We rented a truck or three for parts of the move, but mostly Ryder for 10 days or so. Multiple trips to a storage yard (total of 3 units) for house and shop stuff. By the time we closed and left town, it was pretty clear that most of that stuff was going to Oregon via pro movers. I did the shop stuff myself, but the money paid to Mayflower was well worth it.
Had to use a Budget truck for the shop move. They and U-haul were the only outfits in the city closest to where we moved. Ryder was 180 miles away. Penske would have been similar. The big downside was that the Budget truck had a hell of a hard time climbing out of the Sacramento Valley to Weed and points north. And yeah, driving a truck with that sail area over the Shasta Lake bridge at Turntable Bay had my rectum trying to eat the seat cushion.