The garden at the old place was luxuriantly overgrown from a summer of neglect. Cherry tomatoes shone in red competion, marred by an infestation of slugs. Cat had dug up the garden treasures for moving: one rose bush towered as tall as I. We avoided its sharp thorns as it was gently bent into the cargo van.
I knew most of the furniture well, having been there along the way when most of it arrived from Ikea, and having helped to assemble much of it. The pale woods coordinate well with the new room, crowded though it was with heaps of newly moved possessions. Most of it had already been moved from room to room, apartment to apartment, in the old building, so we knew it would fit through the doorway assembled. In the end, with various pauses for complex geometric problem solving, everything ended up out of the apartment, in the cargo van, and at least through the doorway of the new place, if not up the stairs. Most of it was easy enough to transport. The desk was large, flimsy in just the wrong way, with a few nails sticking out, and no good grips. We brought it out one step at a time.
By mid-afternoon, van-returning time, we were done. The furniture moved, books transported, only a few odds and ends left to be ferried over, nothing which required the cargo van anymore. Cat gifted me with a transplanted miniature rose bush, and I went home.
Followup: Who knew that an unflowering rose bush would make such a good conversation piece? Three people asked me what plant I was carrying en route home by transit. I had a good conversation for most of the trip with the third of them, who, in the way of small world Toronto, I discovered will be taking a history of science course with a friend of mine this fall at York.