moving

2010

I’ve been known to go into Major Action Mode and plan, plan, plan and do, do, do and obsess, obsess, obsess my time away. Which is fine sometimes. My mind likes to be busy, as do my hands. Once I get something in my head and work on it for a few days/months, and get all set on How It’s Going To Be, I can have a really hard time recalculating and changing plans if the need arises.

We planned to travel the USA and meet lots of people and write a book and live out of our car with practically nothing to our name. We sold almost all our stuff. We gave notice on our home. We set up interviews and found sponsors and had a blast figuring out where we might go and the best way to get there. And then, our plans changed. And miracle or miracles, it was no big thing.

There have been a few times in my life when this has happened – I’ve ended up somewhere or with someone and I just know that is where I’m supposed to be. I get that feeling in my gut that says – ya, man. Right here. We got to Virginia and that is how I feel.

Of course, I’m a little disappointed that we won’t be driving across the country and meeting all of you, taking photos and creating a book, but it feels like that might still be coming. Sometime later. And even if it never does, I’m ok with that, too.

I find myself going inward a little. I’m not blogging as much or taking as many photos. I’m hardly on Twitter or Facebook. I’m not joining or participating in networking events. I feel quiet inside and I don’t really want to share my entire life with everyone. I don’t want to document every little thing that we do or where we go or what we looked like. These are all new feelings for me and it’s taken me a few weeks to reconcile that with the person I’ve been for the past 8 years. I’ve been a little confused by the whole thing.

I felt a little guilty that I feel this new way. After all, for the past 8 years I’ve talked about pretty much everything and shared so much with all of you. And I’ve loved it and sometimes, it’s the only thing that kept me going through major depressions and hard times. Sharing here and other places on the web has been such an important thing for my life.

No, I’m not making some grand announcement that I won’t be blogging ever again and I’m moving into a cave where I’ll become a recluse and live off squirrels and insects. (Good protein.) I’m just saying that my habits and feelings are changing and I don’t know what that means yet.

Thank you, friends, for coming here and caring what I say. Thank you for your emails and comments and love and support over the years. I feel like I know so many of you and I have no idea what I would have done without you during the hard times. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And if I suddenly find something I want to write about here in a consistent fashion, you’ll be the first to know.
xoxo

p.s. You can still email me if you want to. I’m not a hermit, for land’s sake.

p.p.s. Happy New Year! I wish you all the best for your new year.

Only Slightly Crazy

I’ve got dirt under my fingernails. The plants are finally repotted and they just won’t shut up with their thanking me for all the new and wonderful root space.

I finally gave up on my awesome, vitally important plan to go through all boxes, gleaning the good and tossing the chaff, and having the entire house completely organized so that when the earthquake comes and the power goes out and it’s the middle of the night and you can’t see anything and you have to find your shoes, a flashlight (should be in the garage, 2nd shelf on the left after the detergent), the spare batteries (should be in the hallway drawer, 3rd down from the top in a sandwich-sized ziplock), a snack pack of animal crackers (should be in the long cupboard in the kitchen, behind the soups), and the binder fully organized with all our important papers including passports, (DOES NOT EXIST), I know exactly where everything is. Now? We’ll never make it out alive and it’s all my fault. Also, now that the boxes are jammed into the garage I can see how much birdseed is all over the carpet. Awesome.

This weekend I’m going to pretend to be normal. Wish me luck.

Found

We’re finally, mostly, for sho moved in. What that really means is that all the furniture and boxes are in one house instead of two. The garage is almost solely a storage unit, but there is a tiny aisle you can walk through if you have balls of steel and don’t mind heavy boxes of books falling on your toes.

After so many days of strenuous physical labor, today was quite light. I’ve just been walking around the house placing things here and there. Moving a pile from one side to the other. Picking up a stack from one room and sticking it on a table in that one. The kitchen is almost really done. I found most of what should be in there but somewhere under piles of cardboard boxes full of cables and cleaning products and shoes there is a box of plates. Until I find it, I hope you washed your hands real well since you’ll be holding all your food between your interlaced fingers.

I did find the coffee maker, though. And the bean grinder, which I almost didn’t need since my teeth have been doing just fine. I also found about 25 jars that once held jam, mayonnaise, olives and probably pickled pigs feet for all I know. 25 jars that Joe saved after they were empty because he can use them again for SOMETHING. 25 jars that sat in the cupboard until I got the chance to throw them away. 25 jars with lids, carefully and lovingly wrapped in paper and bubble wrap by my daughter, her friend and her cousin. Two boxes worth. I can just picture them in the kitchen (while I was upstairs rolling bedspreads and sheets into one giant taco roll and tossing it over the balcony) encouraging each other to make sure and take enough of the $115/yard bubble wrap to carefully enclose each and every beautiful inch of the jar that once held creamy white waves of mayo. So we could carry the boxes into the truck. And move them. And carry them again. And unpack them. And then throw them away. Or better, pack them up again and haul them to Goodwill. Didn’t you just say the other day that you wanted 25 used jars? Some still have the labels on them.

But every once in awhile, while rummaging for socks or toilet paper or hand soap or fingernail polish remover (JUST GO TO THE DOLLAR STORE AND BUY NEW!!! IT’S FASTER!!) you find something really important. Something that will make every day from now on so much better. Thanks goodness.

darth pez

New/Old, Whatever. Just Get Me Some Coffee.

In case you were wondering, downsizing from a huge house to one half as big sucks. Now you know. You’re welcome.

Here is the old entry way:

entry_old

And here is the new entry:

entry_new

Tiny new living room:

livingroom_new

Here is the old kitchen:

kitchen_old

And the new one:

kitchen_new

I’m going to miss our old huge bathroom. But being a few blocks away from where my ex lives saves everyone a huge amount of time and gas. We’re also close to their schools. As soon as I find my makeup, the iron, my comfortable shoes, the coffeemaker and my anti-psychotic medication, things are going to be fine.

At the Zoo

People keep coming in the house, looking this way and that way, checking out the dining room where fifteen miscellaneous projects are arranged carefully, clockwise, around the table. They walk towards the backyard, sniffing over the dishtowel, crumpled, next to the coffee mug from this morning and the plate half slick with remaining egg yolk and toast crumbs. They scan the walls, the floors, judging the painting hanging slightly too far to the right and the pile of magazines, about 25 high, next to the stack of books, even higher, on the coffee table. There’s a corner of clothes waiting to be folded on the couch. Some balls of yarn on the floor by the basket. And the kitchen carpet, the blue one of respectable size and pile, is in the washer. They will never know that I am a person that has that kitchen carpet. They will forever believe I am a kitchen carpetless heathen with toes touching the cold linoleum at 2am while making toast.

They imagine their table where mine is. Their living room set where mine is. Their beds, linens, bathroom items including shaped soaps that look like seashells and stars, where my homemade candles sit in their small clay plant reservoir, just the perfect size for three laid in a triangle.

They come back downstairs, moving as a herd, the mom who judged the way my bed was (not) made, the dad who thinks the two plungers in the garage are a sure sign that the plumbing must be bad, their pre-teen girl chewing gum (she probably touched Alex’s jewelry on the table by her bed and smelled her perfume in the bathroom), their 5-year-old boy holding the railing, trailing his fingers on the side (they probably have something sticky on them from breakfast, like grape jelly or syrup and I bet he picked his nose and left a disgusting booger on the railing about half way down) and the toddler girl, too cute for words but she stole one of my kitchen magnets and put it in her pocket. If confronted, her mom will probably call me a liar and send her co-worker’s son, who belongs to a bad group of kids, over to steal our TVs when we’re out. I don’t really care about the magnet. It’s one of the butterfly ones that say cliché things like ‘Love is in your heart!‘ and ‘Today is the First Day..‘ blah blah blah. I imagine her finding it two days from now, cleaning out the pockets for the wash, and immediately feeling embarrassed. Her face will turn red and she’ll wonder if I know. I know.

And they are just one group of many. We are the attraction in the zoo, sitting on the couch and pretending to not notice them as the landlord takes them around and shows them the many benefits to this lovely home like the dog run sans dog, the spacious Great Rooms with dual fireplaces and the automatic sprinkling system. Doritos commercials have never been so captivating.

Mostly, I don’t stay around when the people come out on their excursion. Mostly, I go to the market or the book store and waste an hour looking at more books to add to the Haven’t Read Yet pile or stay in isle 4 reading the backs of cereal boxes. Honey Nut Cheerios are not a good read. And I can’t wait to be in our new home, away from these people looking at our old one, where we don’t really live anymore. So I guess I better get out there and look through more homes. But only empty ones.