Welcome to the PG, bitch*
So, here I am in beautifulPrince George. The move was...okay. I had spent the previous weeks packing up all of my crap, getting rid of what I thought was tons of stuff.
Three weeks before move.
After the garage sale, Idiot Son, making himself useful for once, helped me take two minivan loads of stuff over to Value Village, including something like seven boxes of books. The woman at the dock looked a little dazed, but otherwise handled it well.
Two weeks before move.
My mother had given me the dimensions of the trailer, and I had measured out the space in the bedroom downstairs as best I could, trying to factor in space taken up by the furniture in the room. I was hauling stuff downstairs and piling in the room within those boundaries, and thought that I was doing quite well.
One week before move.
And then it was moving day. And naturally, things went wrong, beginning with the discovery that the trailer was two feet shorter than I had been told. Oh. And my mother, much as I love her, does not deal with this sort of thing well. She already thinks I have two much stuff, and seeing it all piled there did nothing to help. Ms. V and Soph had generously come over to help me haul boxes downstairs, and they faithfully did this while my mother and I rehashed our issues.
Mum: "You haven't finished cleaning! Go vacuum."
Me: *starts vacuuming*
Mum: "Go downstairs and see what needs to be packed into the truck."
Me: *goes back downstairs".
Mum: "Have you finished vacuuming?"
Me: "No, because YOU TOLD ME TO COME DOWNSTAIRS!"
(This, incidently, finally culminated in Prince George in a rather heated discussion on my mother's consistant criticism over the previous three days on everthing from what I had packed to my choice in laundry detergent. Family: pissing you off in ways no one else can.)
My sad and lonely apartment.
Ms. V. quoted the old axiom about how a friend will help you move, but a good friend will help you move a body, and in that case Ms. V. and Soph are very good friends indeed, as they helped me move the equivalent of a mass grave. But finally, the trailer was packed (I had to leave my bike, boo), hugs and goodbyes were exchanged, and off we went. And may I just say that the back of a truck is very crowded when you are sharing it with two large dogs, one of whom is being pissy and refusing to share (yes, I'm looking at you, Sophie). Also, I really like the drive from Hope to Kamloops. I like the roads named after Shakespreare characters. I like the old avalanche gun platforms. I like the river. I like the avalanche barriers that are decorated in a jaunty snowflake motif. I even kind of like the toll booths, althought that's probably because I'm not the one paying to go through them.
So we arrived in Kamloops in the early evening, and the next day was a day of rest, a gathering of strength, if you will, for the drive up to Prince George. My mother and I managed to not kill each other.
Dying tree
Tuesday, we were on the road by 6:15. Blargh. The journey was uneventful in every sense (except for Sophie continuing to hog the backseat). The scenery was dull, an endless succession of dying trees and billboards for Barkerville. Even the towns are dull, with their overly twee, gold rushy names. The gold rush is to northern BC what Cameron Rennie MacIntosh is to northern Scotland: bloody everywhere.
It only took us a few hours to unload everything (yay for minimal stairs!), after which we smuggled the dogs in, this being a no-pets apartment. Bed was very early.
The next morning, feeling significantly less grumpy, we took the dogs for a walk at a very nice little park next to the railway museum. I was oddly thrilled to discover that the Fraser River runs by, as though a (muddy) piece of Vancouver had followed me up here.
Oh, great
This is a bear bin.
This is the purpose of a bear bin being completely defeated.
The Fraser, in all its silty glory.
The parents left on Thursday, and I spent a happy day puttering about, putting things away and then trying to remember where I had put them. Also, I can now use more than one appliance at a time. The power, it is heady.
On Friday, I went to the staff orientation. It was up at UNBC, so I also got my first experience with the Prince Geogre transit system. The orientation consisted of meeting everyone, getting many pieces of paper, reviewing safety regulations, and watching videos on the correct handling of ATV's and how to respond to bears. And then everyone swapped bear stories. Did I mention there are bears? Because there are bears.
Afterwords, we got to go on a tour of the archaeology department. Walking through the campus, we kept commenting on how nice it was. It still has that new university smell, before the aromas of mildew, coffee, french fries and desperation have permeated the walls. And the archaeology department...oh god. The head of the department had worked with the architects to design labs specifically for archaeological study, instead of just shoehorning the labs into whatever available space there was. We walked into the main lab, and we all just gasped with wonder. It was beautiful. It was clean and spacious and had plenty of work room. It was the closest to a religious experience I've ever come.
And now the university is considering shutting the department down. Bastards.
And thus we have my first week in Prince George. I get to pick up my gear from the office tomorrow, and I may even get to go out this week. Squee!
Coming soon! Adventures in first aid, fire suppression, and cork boots! Stay tuned!
*Yes, I know that joke is as stale as last week's bagel. Such is life.
Three weeks before move.
After the garage sale, Idiot Son, making himself useful for once, helped me take two minivan loads of stuff over to Value Village, including something like seven boxes of books. The woman at the dock looked a little dazed, but otherwise handled it well.
Two weeks before move.
My mother had given me the dimensions of the trailer, and I had measured out the space in the bedroom downstairs as best I could, trying to factor in space taken up by the furniture in the room. I was hauling stuff downstairs and piling in the room within those boundaries, and thought that I was doing quite well.
One week before move.
And then it was moving day. And naturally, things went wrong, beginning with the discovery that the trailer was two feet shorter than I had been told. Oh. And my mother, much as I love her, does not deal with this sort of thing well. She already thinks I have two much stuff, and seeing it all piled there did nothing to help. Ms. V and Soph had generously come over to help me haul boxes downstairs, and they faithfully did this while my mother and I rehashed our issues.
Mum: "You haven't finished cleaning! Go vacuum."
Me: *starts vacuuming*
Mum: "Go downstairs and see what needs to be packed into the truck."
Me: *goes back downstairs".
Mum: "Have you finished vacuuming?"
Me: "No, because YOU TOLD ME TO COME DOWNSTAIRS!"
(This, incidently, finally culminated in Prince George in a rather heated discussion on my mother's consistant criticism over the previous three days on everthing from what I had packed to my choice in laundry detergent. Family: pissing you off in ways no one else can.)
My sad and lonely apartment.
Ms. V. quoted the old axiom about how a friend will help you move, but a good friend will help you move a body, and in that case Ms. V. and Soph are very good friends indeed, as they helped me move the equivalent of a mass grave. But finally, the trailer was packed (I had to leave my bike, boo), hugs and goodbyes were exchanged, and off we went. And may I just say that the back of a truck is very crowded when you are sharing it with two large dogs, one of whom is being pissy and refusing to share (yes, I'm looking at you, Sophie). Also, I really like the drive from Hope to Kamloops. I like the roads named after Shakespreare characters. I like the old avalanche gun platforms. I like the river. I like the avalanche barriers that are decorated in a jaunty snowflake motif. I even kind of like the toll booths, althought that's probably because I'm not the one paying to go through them.
So we arrived in Kamloops in the early evening, and the next day was a day of rest, a gathering of strength, if you will, for the drive up to Prince George. My mother and I managed to not kill each other.
Dying tree
Tuesday, we were on the road by 6:15. Blargh. The journey was uneventful in every sense (except for Sophie continuing to hog the backseat). The scenery was dull, an endless succession of dying trees and billboards for Barkerville. Even the towns are dull, with their overly twee, gold rushy names. The gold rush is to northern BC what Cameron Rennie MacIntosh is to northern Scotland: bloody everywhere.
It only took us a few hours to unload everything (yay for minimal stairs!), after which we smuggled the dogs in, this being a no-pets apartment. Bed was very early.
The next morning, feeling significantly less grumpy, we took the dogs for a walk at a very nice little park next to the railway museum. I was oddly thrilled to discover that the Fraser River runs by, as though a (muddy) piece of Vancouver had followed me up here.
Oh, great
This is a bear bin.
This is the purpose of a bear bin being completely defeated.
The Fraser, in all its silty glory.
The parents left on Thursday, and I spent a happy day puttering about, putting things away and then trying to remember where I had put them. Also, I can now use more than one appliance at a time. The power, it is heady.
On Friday, I went to the staff orientation. It was up at UNBC, so I also got my first experience with the Prince Geogre transit system. The orientation consisted of meeting everyone, getting many pieces of paper, reviewing safety regulations, and watching videos on the correct handling of ATV's and how to respond to bears. And then everyone swapped bear stories. Did I mention there are bears? Because there are bears.
Afterwords, we got to go on a tour of the archaeology department. Walking through the campus, we kept commenting on how nice it was. It still has that new university smell, before the aromas of mildew, coffee, french fries and desperation have permeated the walls. And the archaeology department...oh god. The head of the department had worked with the architects to design labs specifically for archaeological study, instead of just shoehorning the labs into whatever available space there was. We walked into the main lab, and we all just gasped with wonder. It was beautiful. It was clean and spacious and had plenty of work room. It was the closest to a religious experience I've ever come.
And now the university is considering shutting the department down. Bastards.
And thus we have my first week in Prince George. I get to pick up my gear from the office tomorrow, and I may even get to go out this week. Squee!
Coming soon! Adventures in first aid, fire suppression, and cork boots! Stay tuned!
*Yes, I know that joke is as stale as last week's bagel. Such is life.