I am always thinking about moving, especially when the NYU students, or the crazies (can't always tell the difference) are running across my head on the roof at 4:30 am, which is never a nice way to wake up.
When I moved in to my current abode, I got a few friends to assist. It wasn't a giant move, I was coming from a studio apartment into an even smaller, if you can believe it, 2-bedroom where my husband-to-be already lived. It was mostly boxes of clothes, records, some dishes. The previous weeks had been spent making space for me - a closet under the loft bed installed by Mark and Chris, a shower for the bathtub, and turning on the gas for the oven for the first time in decades were just a few of the improvements made prior to my arrival.
The one possession I had that was substantial was a couch. It was a normal sized couch with a pull out bed and probably the most valuable thing I had ever owned. It seemed like it would be a good replacement for the dorm style couch that was currently occupying my new living room.
But oh, who ever considered getting it in the door. Getting it up 5 flights of stairs was nothing compared to the odd sized front door we have. The door isn't just narrow, it doesn't open to 90 degrees due to the wall that it bangs up against when you open it. And then the bathtub is right next to the door, so anything coming in has to be lifted 4 feet off the ground, and angled to the left over the tub and through a less than 90 degree entry. If you are still following me, you might be able to picture how a couch could never make it through this door.
But Mark, oh Mark, we do miss you very much, and are glad to have this memory of you moving me in, and the story that keeps you alive in our hearts. (I speak here directly to him from the internet wireless straight to heaven).
Mark, chief motivator to get this move over faster (aside: he once called me from a construction job to say the workers took too many bathroom breaks and he was considering making them all wear diapers), tried to muscle the couch in, since it was stuck in the door. And I mean stuck, 4 feet off the ground with nobody holding it up, just stuck in the doorframe. First, he took the front door off completely. When that didn't work he got a hammer and tried to hammer the couch through the door. When that didn't work, he went into Janice's apartment next door and tore down the wall that separates our apartments. Tearing down the wall was done with a lot of vigor and not a lot of patience. I think, though, that the destruction was the best part of the day for him. And finally, we were able to bring the couch in through the hole in the wall.
The hole was never completely fixed and a piece of plaster leaned up against the wall still, 15 years later (almost to the day) separates our kitchens. But, when one of us loses our keys, or when Max is locked out, it is pretty easy to get inside. This was especially helpful when my cats were trapped inside, we were in Hawaii and nobody had a spare key. Thank you Janice for crawling through the hole to feed the kitties until we could fedex you new keys. And thanks Mark for making moving day so funny.
Dirge in Memorium to Mark Ashwill
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