In the End, It’s Only Stuff…

All has been quiet on the blogging front since I’ve been living in the Dallas metroplex these past three weeks, and believe me, it hasn’t been for the lack of something to say.

There’s just been a whole lotta (and yes, I realize I said “whole lotta”…ha ha) unexpected drama with getting settled in, and suffice it to say, I can’t wait for things to be nice and routine again (a.k.a. normal).

Now mind you, the Banisters’ drama is not the salacious stuff of your average episode of Jersey Shore (thank goodness), but it’s been crazy all the same, thanks to some seriously incompetent movers who aren’t exactly some of my favorite people at the moment.

For the record, if anyone ever contemplates using Manchester Moving & Storage, don’t! Trust me, you’ll thank me (and will probably even want to hug me out of sheer thanksgiving) for steering you far, far away…

Basically, after patiently waiting three looooooong weeks for our stuff, (it was supposed to be “about a week,” but that’s really only the beginning of how ridiculously messed-up things were), the Manchester guys finally brought our stuff this past Sunday morning.

Thrilled that I’d no longer have to check in with them every single day (which involved hearing this very long, very syrupy hold message about how they understand how stressful a move can be and how they’ll do everything to make sure your stuff is protected, blah, blah, blah), our delivery day was supposed to be a day of rejoicing.

After all, we’d finally get to settle into the home we’d been paying rent, utilities and lawn care for—and subsequently, weren’t getting to use for anything but a mailbox and storage for about one box of my office stuff.

As you’ve probably have already guessed, rejoicing was about the last thing on Sunday’s agenda. Turns out, just about all of our furniture, not to mention my dishes, glasses, etc. arrived in pieces. As Will put it, the experience brought all new meaning to Bob Dylan’s song “Everything is Broken.”

Our horrible move-in day all began with the destruction of my cute accent table from Pier One. Now I know, it wasn’t exactly Ethan Allen. But it was darn adorable, and I loved how my giraffe print lamp looked just perfect sitting on top of it. And considering that the Manchester guys bubble wrapped and draped sturdy, padded cloths around every piece of furniture we owned, I was definitely a little shocked when my cute little table looked like an alligator had taken a bite out of it.

Mourning my loss, I reminded myself that it was only an accent table, and that I could probably find a suitable replacement in no time flat. Little did I know, though, that was only the beginning of a day filled with loads and loads of tears…and furniture that looked like it had endured a grisly death.

Only minutes after saying goodbye to my table, I eventually bid farewell to our lovely pillow-top bed and headboard (not even a year old, our mattress was yellowed, bloated and looked like it had been dragged through the Nashville’s Cumberland river), our coffee table, flat-screen TV, armoire, dresser and a slew of my favorite dishes, pitchers and casserole pans.

While most people would probably assume it was the bed or the TV that officially sent me over the edge, it was actually the loss of my favorite yellow casserole dish that officially inspired the waterworks. For someone who loves to cook, pots, pans and dishes are like extended members of the family…it’s hard picturing your kitchen without them, and now I was forced to do just that.

But after a good, loooong sob and countless theories on how people who have a moving company could mess up sooo bad, I started feeling a little dumb for getting so upset. Really in the end, it’s only stuff, right? Unlike my hubby, my wedding pictures or my Dad’s precious Bible that I’ve kept with me since he passed away in 1990, all of the furniture, the TV and the dishes, can be replaced in time. Those other things? Well, not so much, and they were all fine.

Now I’m not going to lie, the experience of losing all these things still stings. There’s still a slew of boxes I haven’t gone through yet, and I’m sure there will be tons more stuff that’s destined for the garbage bin.

And the past few days have downright inconvenient to say the least when you’re filling out long claims reports and trying to find a new bed when you really loved your old one. However, compared to the recent flooding in Nashville where people really did lose everything including those aforementioned wedding pictures and family treasures, our losses are truly paltry in comparison.

If anything, the experience has brought the oh-so-wise words written in Matthew 6:20 to mind: “But store up for yourself treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.”

I’m guessing that might also include movers who fail to bring your stuff to you in one piece…

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