Lift, a little
To those who earn a living shifting heavy objects from here to there (let’s call them movers), a hearty nod of respect. I don’t do much of it, and each time marks me.
As part of the ongoing renovations, there is a new bathroom in the plans. We placed the shower assembly downstairs, several weeks ago. Today, the other oversize piece went from the garage to the basement. In two pieces. This is a large vanity, with a marble(ish) counter surface and a supporting piece of furniture. Each one needing two people to get a grasp on the mass. We were two, with a spotter, and we had lifting straps available. Let’s get ‘r done.
The path was circuitous. Up a set of stairs from the garage into the main part of the house. Watch out for lumber piles and bags of bird seed. Then, across the kitchen and into a long staircase. Thankfully, we had gravity on our side, but the effort left me ready to curl up with a good book. Not fun. Not simple. Like any other job that gets done once and no more, the learning curve can be discounted: I learned nothing.
I’m contented to say that we moved the beast, and that it won’t be coming back out any time soon. Never would be nice. We now wait for an itinerant plumber to hook everything together and get the water running into the drain. Guaranteed, I won’t touch that job. No desire to test my “indoor pool possibility”.
Oh, and lifting straps? I tried them. I abandoned them. Good old fingers and forearms carried the day.
