Tag Archives: moving

Packed

Unfortunately not really with money but more like with lotsa boxes. They are stocked in my way to the bed in bedroom – wonder why.
Tomorrow we wil call the transporting company and than pray for few days that they deliver everything safely and unbroken (especially my flutes and cups).

Dori
stuffz

Than only waiting for Thursday, to depart in the noon and get to Kuwait next day in the very morning…

podpis

Crabby Worries

Abu is in London now and I’m sitting in a living room, watching Dumbo with my daughter and avoiding the look at the side of the room, where a huge stack of empty cartoon boxes is waiting for me to take some action and fill them up with my books, clothes, hijabs, Dori’s toys and pyjamas and smug my felting needles somehow among the stuff so they won’t break – who has illusions about the gentle care of moving companies anyways. And, if it happens and they actually are gentle, the shipping through the air almost makes it certain that there will happen some accidental (or not) drop here and there, as what happened to my baby trolley. And yes, I still didn’t forgive Easy Jet the drop of my coach from plane on the ground instead of putting in on the moving trail. But hey, who am I to judge the probably miserably paid workers there, right?
Anyways, just simply trying to think of what to pack, what to throw and what to drag to PDSA charity shop (the things still in considerable condition) where I dropped in today to ask them if they would fancy some of our stuff which would be thrown on the street in the other case.
I’ve got lotsa stuff. I mean, loootsa. The difference between my dear husband and me packing is significant now and I strongly suspect that he doesn’t understand it. The thing is, he’s going back home. He can afford, up to certain point, to leave most of the things behind without much harm. I, on the other hand, am moving to new country. Somewhere else. Where I’ve never been before. So I have that urge to hang on even pretty silly things like mussels gathered at the sea or flower pots (with the flowers if possible) or the skimmer I’ve got from my mum when moving from Czech to Newcastle. Because these normally insignificant things are what creates my “home” at this time and taking as much known and homey with me makes me feel more cosy with all that circus.
Yes, I know I’m probably just oversensitive, but I can’t help it.

beach

I even tried to make my worries fade away by going to the sea today and looking around the beach for (yet another insignifficantly) random things which would catch my eye or lens of my camera. I found lotsa deep shells which I – of course – brought home with me because they would make such great hats and caps for felted dolls; I also found a glass marble washed out of the high tide among those big rocks at King Edward’s beach, and I was daring (read: stupid) enough to reach for it. Unfortunatelly for my poor finger there was also a guardian coming with the green piece of glass and snapped my finger pretty hard when trying to usurp it for himself. Small crabby crab, pincers sharp as razors though. My right hand ring finger is now decorated with a clean and deep paper cut, which was incredibly painy with the salty water of the sea, and even more when I added a bit to my blondiness and washed my hands with a hygienic gel, which badly enough contains alcohol for the sake of desinfection. Tiny open wounds for the win, this will annoy me for a bit.
After I came back half dead from my walk to pick up Dori, I offered her to go buy some girly pinky shoes, since her current ones are outta size already (or finally, she eventually wore them nearly 10 months, which is in the case of four years old kid indeed quite long – she seems to grow just time to time, though, and keep same size for really long in between her growth spurts). We went, we wandered through Eldon Square incapable to locate John Lewis’ children’s shoe department, we found it, we did buy shoes for me and her (mainly for the upcoming flight, soft and comfy for me, proper size and with opened tip for Dori), and at that point already really slowly clambered back to Mowbray Street.
I was up and running – literally – for nearly seven hours, but hey, it was fun.
Now just to win the stare down with these empty boxes here…

podpis

Perhaps I’m Getting Older

Why? Simply because I don’t feel so comfortable with re-adapting to new situations anymore. No, I don’t mean changing the daily schedule, but moving out and in – flat, town, country, life.
Within two and half years I’ve got used to the thought that we will reside in Britain for given period of time (three years) and than we will move on to different country and start over somewhere else. Eventually, I will be the one starting over, as for hubby it is just moving back home. But that’s not the issue.
As the period of time is almost over (ok, ok, I know I’m freaking out prematurely, it is still few months), my mind randomly wanders to the ends “what will – if will – what if – how to – whyyyyy?” related to moving outta Britain and getting settled in Kuwait. I’ve got, during the time, quite used to that idea though, and my mind have just locked onto it, not much willing to go off the set up route anymore. Not like I really find peace and safety in this moving – it really, widly scares the heck outta me. But, in spite of my stubborn tries never to plan anything or it will get destroyed / smacked down / lifted up and shattered into tiny bitsy pieces, my mind’ve got into those small planning steps such as: I wanna have a pool in the house or I wanna have this or that over there, and generally I’ve just got comfortable with the fact that this is the inevitable future and it’s better to get along than to try to fight the unknown. Right?
To add some spice to the life Abood came recently home suggesting he will try to get his PhD. (which I supposse as a good idea), and that might be in Australia. “Australia?!!” – came to my mind, numbing the feeling in my fingers and stopping my brain full of swimming pools and creamy walls of the kuwaiti house we don’t have yet and won’t have for quite some time even if we get to the desert right now; “Australia!”, the completely other end of the world, winter in summer and summer in winter, new people, new town, new life, new adapting? “God, no way!” – that all has been going through my empty head (at the time full of these thoughts). Hubby, probably feeling the overwhelming wave of pure panic eating me inside out, have replied quite promptly: “Or maybe here in Britain,” and it actually have stopped the urge to run around screaming absurdly till my body and lungs go numb; but the soothing power of the word Britain – something familiar, something I’m quite wont to cooperate with and live in, vaporized in few hours and than only one thought kept on repeating in my head – 3 years, new 3 years, I’ll be 28 by than, where’s that Abbas thing and the house and moving and getting used to desert and stuff like that? Where’d it all go?

Going Not Really Randomly Mad

Ok.
So.
Bad Blog Day today, I assume.
The initial moving was ok, but additional attempt to move it on the root failed big time and wiped the whole site out. So the first losing of few recent articles and comments seemed to be silly suddenly…
I managed to get it back through Drupal; but than that one screwed somewhere during uninstall and lead to ghost file, causing a fatal error in my database.
So I had to redo it, in the end counting on four damn times, it took me the whole day and a lot of nerves (especially when I really thought I am left with all posts wiped out  for the second time – but now it would’ve been my fault, and that I didn’t really like.)
I’m finished with any attempts to move anything anywhere by now. There’s still some annoying error when it comes to links, but it’s way too late for me to solve it now and my nerves are really on the border of beating my poor laptop up, though I know it’s not its mistake.
I have still a lot of manual editing to be done – namely putting  <More> tag in every single post which is unbearably long; sorting out categories which didn’t get imported from the old Drupal backup; manually assigning each single post to its original category; editing broken permalinks on certain posts, mainly the ones written in Czech; getting my counters up and running; and letting the few people know I’m back on the site and it should be, inshallah, ok now.
I’m no good with scripting as I can see, but I eventually managed to battle through it with this awesome guide, which helped really a lot. So if you are moving your website from Drupal to WordPress, be sure to check it.
I so, so, sooo hate any moving of bigger chunks of files. I really do hope it’s completely behind me for several months at least. I need my calm! And for that I want to have my blog running, to keep my memories somewhere else than on paper. I’m still partially sad about the whole year 2008 which got lost in vacuum of internet by someones fault, not mine, that is sure at least for this point, heh. Our first year in UK… oh well.
I’m off to bed, for now…