When you’ve moved as often as we have in recent years, you learn to temper your expectations. Live in the moment. Perfection is unattainable. Something is bound to go wrong. Roll with it or lose your stomach lining!
But the movers we hired this time were a cut above. And it’s not a matter of price. We have paid the same amount of money for other movers. No one has given us the kind of service we received from Canada Moving in London.
All four guys were personable, friendly, and worked like an early weekend depended on it! (Which, on a Friday, it did!) They laid rugs over all walking surfaces, wrapped everything neatly, and treated our stuff like it was their own. They were skeptical that after loading the main floors, they’d be able to fit much of our stuff from the basement on the truck, but they got 95% of it. There are few things worse on moving day than a broken promise. They under-promised and over-delivered, a preferred way to handle things.
These guys seemed to genuinely like each other. The youngest guy readily took tips from the older ones. They were careful and watched out for Miss Sugar, once she was free to roam the basement. (She’ll explain on Friday!) They weren’t even completely done unpacking the truck and I was already emailing the company to sing their praises.
I had one breakage and that was my fault. I had packed a platter on its end and it didn’t make it. That’s a rather good outcome, I’d say, having had a mover of the past destroy an antique because he was rushing.
ME: I think we’re at our limit of amateur moves.
DEREK: You’re saying that if we move again, we’ll have to give up our amateur status?
ME: Yeah, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to turn pro!
Toronto to London (me). London to Wallaceburg. Wallaceburg to a London apartment for six weeks. Apartment to Southwold. Southwold to Port Stanley. We were 11 years in London before this madness!
We know that people think we’re insane but we really don’t care. When it was clear that Wallaceburg was a mistake, we chose to correct it immediately rather than try to live with it. (And it’s NO reflection on Wallaceburg. It’s a lovely town, just too far from our friends and family.)
Southwold, well, that’s a story for another day. This feels right, though. And walking through the empty house in Southwold gave us no misty feelings of sadness. We no longer look out over corn. Now it’s dirt that will become a lawn and a driveway. And it’s the prettiest darn dirt I’ve ever seen.