It's not always a moving experience

Being Frank, by Frank Ameduri

My good friends, Casey and Tracy, are moving into their new house this weekend. On Wednesday night, the crew got together and hauled the Ressler estate out of storage and over to the new Ressler Dome. Moving has some similarities to childbirth, I think. It's extremely painful and seems to last way too long while it's happening; it brings great joy and significant changes when it's over; you somehow forget all about the pain and suffering just in time to decide to do it all over again.

Moving is always a time to reflect about things … mostly because reflection is better than thinking about the wrought iron and granite wardrobe that has to go upstairs. I recently moved into some new digs myself, so this month I've done more heavy lifting and reflecting than a chrome construction crane.

It occurs to me that there are at least a zillion ways to move. I've helped a lot of people move over the years, and I've never seen two families do it exactly the same way. Of course, as a designated lifter/carrier guy, volume and weight are the two things you notice first, but organization is a critical factor that quickly comes into play.

I once moved a woman who was so organized the Army hired her as a logistics consultant. The boxes and other items were color coded, and there were corresponding colored ribbons in the rooms of the new house. Each box also included instructions about where in the room it should be placed. Of course, to make it easier, the instructions were in a code, and we all got a cheat sheet to help with the translation. A box of books would be colored blue for the living room and have the code, "FW-L," for front window, left side. This was an amazing effort to have items placed exactly where she wanted to unpack them, and it only took 16.5 seconds before all the lifter/carrier guys were ready to toss all the boxes on the front lawn and go for beer and brats. Eventually, I just grabbed all the ribbons and hung them around the living room. Things went much faster after that, but none of the lifter/carrier guys were invited to stay for burgers. Go figure.

Years later, I moved my in-laws. This was an experience from the other end of the organization spectrum. My mother-in-law was still putting things in boxes as we carried them out to the truck. She also became the inspiration for an article in "Scientific American" that used her house and garage to prove that you really can pack 10 pounds of potatoes in a five-pound bag. She'd discovered a way to deflate wood and other materials. You'd pull an old dresser out of a corner of the garage, and an entertainment center would pop up in its place. Pull the entertainment center out and get your toes squished under a Barcalounger. None of the boxes were really labeled with the intent of helping the lifter/carrier guys. A box of things rescued from a desk drawer in the office might be labeled, "neato stuff I forgot I had." A box of record albums -- they were made out of vinyl and required a needle to produce sound for those of you under the age of 30 -- would be labeled, "Jeez, were we really that dorky?" It was a nightmare, and she just sort of made a stab at orchestration when the boxes came off the truck in the new place. It took them six years to finally get stuff into the right rooms.

The Resslers move was pleasantly between the extremes. Tracy was well-organized, but not cruelly so. There were lots of lifter/carrier people on hand. Some of the lifter/carrier people were members of the Rehak Nation from North Dakota. They're a group of big, Nordic-looking boys who can each lift a large bookcase with all the books on it and carry it six miles just for the promise of a beer. The Rehaks know how to have a good time, but they know what to do when you put some work in front of them, too. The most challenging part of moving the Resslers was trying to stay out of the Rehaks' way. One of them carried a couch with two built-in recliners in one hand while eating a slice of pizza with the other. Casey was sitting on the couch, directing the action.

At the same time, another member of the Rehak Nation was carrying a king-size bed upstairs and assembling it at the same time. My primary job was to make sure the doors stayed open and that a slice of pizza and a cold beer was always within reach of each Rehak. That's actually the best moving plan I've ever seen. The Ressler plan was beautiful in its simplicity. 1. Buy beer. 2. Buy pizza. 3. Invite Rehaks. 4. Stay out of way and don't allow fingers to get between Rehaks and pizza. Move accomplished.

Frank Ameduri can't lift what he used to.