Many people love to camp. They grab their tent, their sleeping bag, flashlight, and frying pan and they’re off to enjoy the outdoors, take in the scents of nature 24hr/day.
Not me. Oh, I love the outdoors, but only for a select amount of time. No overnighting, thank you very much. After a dirty day in the elements, take me home to my shower and my bed, please and thank you. I’d put myself somewhere on the spectrum between glamping and Troop Beverly Hills. Luckily for me, camping in your own home is on that spectrum.
After the estate sale, we’d been left with our beds (which we’d put behind a locked door), two green floor-to-ceiling cabinets, and a wooden chair the dogs had gotten the better of. We saved some pots and kitchenware, notably the coffee machine, and were otherwise living out of suitcases as of the beginning of March.
Three weeks until departure. This, we could do.
The idea of a minimalist life was urgently appealing. Who needs all this stuff? A towel, a bed, and a nightstand — that’s all I need. Oh, and a closet. And preferably a set of drawers, too. Hangers, of course. And, I mean, I don’t need a coffee machine, but the people who interact with me need me to have a coffee machine. And my books, of course. So somewhere to put my books. And all my kitchen gadgets so I can make my meals. A television, of course — because I don’t want to watch all the Liverpool and San Diego Wave matches on a phone. And, with that, I’ll need a comfy couch. With pillows.
Ah, the minimalist life.
We were enjoying this strange, new existence, looking down at the final days of school and U.S. residency when Husband received a request for a meeting with his new company.
“I wonder if they want to offer us more money for the move,” Husband said. He had a point. The move money they gave us was laughable. They had a requisite amount/limit for anyone moving inside the country and anyone moving outside of the country. Of course, they were accustomed to outside of the country being within the E.U., not the West Coast of the United States.
Deep breath; I digress.
“I wonder if they want to offer us more money for the move,” Husband said.
“Maybe,” I said, wanting to believe that could be true. I didn’t see why that would require a face-to-face meeting though. Send an email. We’re increasing the measly amount we offered to give you for your relocation four fold. Congratulations. See you in Switzerland. Easy peasy. No, this was going to be weightier. And it already made me sweat to carry the thought of that weight.
So Husband took another 6AM meeting, but this one didn’t require me, so he took it alone. Afterall, I had to get ready for work. He set his computer on a built-in shelf in our empty closet and met with the onboarding team.
I couldn’t hear too much from the bathroom. Just enough to be able to tell the person on the line with him was not a native English speaker. The accent was telling. And Husband’s tone of voice. (Husband’s tone of voice is almost always the same: light, jovial, soft, pleasant. I’ve only heard it go edgy when I poke his buttons for long enough, or when our kids do the same thing. Oh, and a bunch of times when he took meetings with Old Boss.)
Husband’s tone of voice quickly changed from friendly to tense. I emerged from the bathroom to hear him say, “…because we have our house rented out. As of April 1st, we have no place to live.”
And shortly thereafter, “We have booked our flights. We arrive March 24th. Our renters arrive April 1st.”
The bottom line: our visas did not go through quickly enough for the April 1st start date. The company hoped everything would work out to have Husband start May 1st instead.
We had planned to camp in our own home, with minimal gear, for three weeks. We had not planned to take our suitcases and book a campsite to sleep outdoors. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have to…
KZ Rochelle 