Moving is fun

Last night I helped a friend of mine in the ward move.

Mandi and I have lived in our current apartment for 18 months now, but the pain of our last move is still somewhat fresh in my mind.

Nevertheless, Jason is a good friend, and I promised to lend my muscles to the process.

The main obstacle, and I knew this when I signed on, was the piano. "Ooohhhh," you men with moving experience are saying. My friend is a very talented pianist and organist, and he owns a beautiful upright piano, which used to reside in the living room of their basement apartment.

That's right, we moved an upright piano from a basement apartment. With four guys, only one of whom is even remotely in shape. Hint: that one guy is not me.

We managed to wrangle the thing out the door and up the stairs, one at a time, without scratching it (at least not too badly... sorry, Jason), or dropping it on anyone's leg.

Thankfully, Jason was able to borrow a truck with a hydraulic lift in the back from his place of employment. Otherwise, we would have had to dead lift the piano into a moving van, a feat I fear we were not up to.

All of this reminds me of a vague memory I have of helping a family move an upright piano when my family lived in Massachusetts. I was five or six at the time, so I doubt I was much help. Our family actually moved an upright from Massachusetts to Utah in 1990, but I don't specifically remember that ordeal. :)

The tragic thing is that Jason only moved a couple blocks, so we had to unload the piano at his new place, as well.

I'm pretty sure I tore an arm muscle a little, but it was worth it, because now Jason owes me one.

And we've got one big entertainment center.