Pittston Dispatch // PD Columnists // Haley Taffera - Haley's Comment

Sunday July 05, 2009 | 01:00 AM

Well, it’s official. We’re home owners.

The signing took place on Friday, June 26, and the Great Move of ’09 went strong all this past weekend. The roommate and I are officially residents of West Pittston!

Yay!

But please, do not feel obligated by any means to bring cupcakes or cookies or pie or anything edible and tasty if you elect to stop by and welcome us to the neighbor. Although, nothing forms a bond between individuals quite like chocolate, if you know what I’m sayin’.

Anyway, if we’re being technical, I guess this move would be considered our second of the year, given we had to leave one apartment for another prior to the house, but I’d rather forget that one all together. Erase it completely from memory, actually.

Packing up the contents of one’s home is never fun and ends up being more work than originally bargained for. You find yourself sitting Indian style on the floor, pulling out your hair, while discovering exactly how much crap you have accumulated and saved for no reason whatsoever over the years. And it boggles my mind what sorts of things we end up tying sentiment to. Word to the wise, JUST THROW IT AWAY!

It also doesn’t help any that our old apartment in Wyoming, what with its tight hallway and small doorframes, was not designed to house our large, bulky furniture. Getting the sofa alone out was harder than breaking into Fort Knox. It took four grown men – huffing, puffing, sometimes cursing – to strategically push and pull the beast out.

Loading up a car and/or truck with belongings that is parked on Wyoming Avenue also proved to be a bit tricky as drivers don’t have much sympathy and/or patience for whatever pedestrians are doing, as mind-blowing as that may be. You can honk your horn all you want, people, but that dresser isn’t going to load itself into the truck bed. If we aren’t going fast enough for you, GET OUT OF YOUR CAR AND HELP!

So, the second move went much better. We were away from the Avenue, nothing had to be repacked, much of the furniture was never reassembled so it was easier (and lighter) to lift and load, and we weren’t limited by tight spaces. In fact, we weren’t limited at all, for my beau’s father, Mike, was present. Complete with bandana and toolbox, Mike was a man on a mission and kind enough to help out with each of the moves – the original move into the apartment in Wyoming, the move out of Wyoming, the move into the temporary apartment, and the move out of the temporary apartment and into the house.

I know, either he’s on crack for helping that much, or I’m just that lovable that he can’t help but help. I’m banking on the latter as Mike’s pet names for me are “Precious” and “Queenie.” Fitting, right?

I can’t repeat much of what Mike is famous for saying as this is a family newspaper.

Mike is a former prison guard who doesn’t believe much in censoring, but just know it’s usually good, priceless, educational, and hilarious. He makes everything a memorable adventure.

Take, for instance, the first time I met him. It was Christmas Day I was feeling shy and staying quiet when he said, “Come sit on Santa’s lap, Precious, and tell me what you want for Christmas.”

I had no choice at that moment, for he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down until I was sitting right there in his lap. That’s our first picture together, Mike and I. Mike’s laughing and smiling his boyish smile while I’m sitting in his lap, looking embarrassed and giggling a nervous giggle. Lasting impression made right there.

We also had the help of my brother-in-law, Dave. Now there’s a man, ladies and gentlemen, who doesn’t nearly receive as much credit as he should for being just an all around great guy. Not only can he be side-splittingly sarcastic and funny, but he’s not a complainer, he simply wants to “get’r done” as he likes to say, and would do about anything for family. It might also have helped to motivate him when I offered to buy him a case of beer, but that’s neither here nor there.

So what’s left to do now, you may ask, that we are finally in the new house?

PLENTY.

Every single room in the house, excluding the bathroom, was punished by previous owners with wallpaper and room borders. Don’t worry, my poor, ugly house, we shall make you beautiful yet once we strip you naked and paint you pretty colors. There’s also some serious gardening that needs to be done in the near future, but, honestly, I don’t have much of a green-thumb and might leave that homework assignment up to the roommate.

For now, though, I’m going to keep busy with all of the boxes that still need to be unpacked. I’m thinking, though, that I might take a break from my stairs for a bit. Can someone tell me what’s up with old houses and steep staircases? I swear to God that you are going to be able to crack an egg off of my tush in a few weeks. Precious is getting a workout on her booty with all of this up and down and moving back and forth nonsense!

That’s it though! No more moving.

You’re stuck with me for a while, West Pittston.

I’m home.