We have been here for one week and a lot has happened.
The painters have finished.
The floors are finished.
The movers have moved us.
And Jerry is ...almost... done. He's so close.
But there was ... one... little... thing... that caused his pace to slow. Minuscule, really....
What's two feet of water in your unfinished basement going to cause? Right? RIGHT? Apparently, it's been raining in Hometown for quite some time.
That's the very definition of Very. Not. Cool.
Good news? My aunt gave us, repeat-- gave us her beautiful oriental rug from her old house.
It's pink and turquoise wound around an off-white background. It's large and would be perfect in our extremely large den.
And we stored it in the basement to keep it out of the way of the workers so they would not ruin it.
And it rained. Hard.
And so it goes. Our basement flooded.
There is good news in all this, Husband had some kind of amazing faith in me while he was wrapping up life in DC...
So, the rug sat underwater for a few days until Jerry could get the water out and Husband could get home and find 35 ways to not get the rug out of the basement.
Rugs, when wet, are really heavy. My public service announcement for the day.
The water drained, Husband created a ramp from an old door and wrapped the rug in plastic to protect it as much as to manhandle it. He asked me to bring over my parents golf cart to pull it out.
Let's back up.
We live off a thoroughfare in Hometown. Brother and the 'rents live off the same thoroughfare, but there really is not a good golf-cart path between our house and their neighborhood. It's great- we're close, but not too close. What's the saying about good neighbors and good fences? And I need to schlep the golf-cart down to the house to get the rug out.
At least my parents have a golf-cart that has blinkers and runs on gas. And has a rearview mirror. And goes about 12 MPH. Off on the 35 MPH, three lane street I head with ropes and tow straps to our new house a mile up the road.
Turning onto our street, the threat of rain became a real concern. Surely, surely the moving gods would take just a touch of pity on us.
If you want to make God laugh, make a plan.
The rain held off just long enough for us to pull the rug out of the attic through an open window where we (read: Husband) removed the bars and discover that fully saturated rugs are really quite heavy. Husband and Wife could not physically lift the rug and drop it on the golf cart. Nor could we find a way to create a make-shift pulley to hoist it in the air and drop it on the golf cart. Ten tries later, we contemplated some beautiful doormats before Wife found the solution.
We folded the rug in half and I backed the cart up to the unfurled rug- which had to be unfurled up hill. Husband and I (read: Husband) hoisted the half on the back of the golf-cart and then flipped the other half up before shoving all the sides onto the back.
And the rain set in.
Husband, in his continued acts of brilliance, tied down the rug with the best of his ability and told me to head back.
In the rain.
On the three-lane thoroughfare.
In a golf-cart.
With only one set of instructions- If it fell off-- keep driving and plead total ignorance if the cops come calling.
And I did just that. This rug has seen more action in the last three days than it has in the last twenty years.