Can you believe that we went all the way to Portland and Newport, Oregon, that we met the Super Chicken and the Angry Eggplant and even went Cat Bordhi-ing together, and that I have remained silent through all of it? It only goes to show the stress I’m under. Moving is very stressful. Even, or perhaps especially, if you’ve spent the last six-to-eight months screaming and stomping and threatening your husband because you want to move NOW. It is going to be hard to break the habit of starting every conversation with Hubby with “when are we moving?” I will try my best but I think sometime in May is the earliest we can hope for.
One casualty of the move has been the disappearance of the thingie that makes the pictures go out of the KayCam and into the Blogotron 2000. I’m going to go to Staples this morning in search of a new thingie. Until then, let me just share the Top Ten Things That Are Making Me Happy To Be Back In My Own Apartment Even Though It Reeks of Paint and Carpet Glue. (For those just joining us, for the past eight months we have been living in the apartment of my late-mother-in-law, who lived — and collected things — in it for almost 60 years.)
10. Not opening a closet and saying, “What do you suppose THAT is?”
9. Not being afraid to open the closets.
8. Having closets.
7. Being able to comply with automated voices telling me to “push the pound key” (although I did grow fond of the Rotary Phone Experience).
6. OMG OMG. There is this AWESOME machine in the kitchen. You put the dirty dishes in it. Then, after a while, you open the door and–get this–the dishes are CLEAN. GET OUT! I am NOT making this stuff up.
5. Fun fact: you can make ice in your own home.
4. Not having to unplug the fridge in order to use the hair dryer.
3. Not hearing the sound that means that the hair dryer just blew up.
2. The only mirrored surfaces are actually mirrors. (If anyone is looking for proof of a mid-20th Century fashion for mirroring things–a trend that seems closely connected to the use of Lucite for everything from furniture to jewelry–see me for documentation.)
1. Not drying my hair in the kitchen.
OK. I’m not that shallow. As time goes by, I am going to have sweet memories of looking out every window at the Hudson, the Palisades, and the George Washington Bridge. I am going to be glad that I spent some time getting to know, through her belongings, someone I barely knew in life. I am going to be very glad that the kids spent part of a year living in the (historically preserved) bedrooms that their dad and uncles shared as boys, falling sleep and waking up to the trucks rumbling across the bridge, and coming home from school to a door that still has their long-gone grandfather’s name on it. (Although Hubby’s dad died decades ago, if I were to call you from the apartment, your caller i.d. would say he was calling. It spooked me the first time I noticed it, but perhaps it’s a sign of my adaptation to the family culture that I’ve started to think that love means never changing the phone listing.) It’s been good. It’s a relief to be home, but it’s been good.
Knitting: there’s been some knitting. More later, when I’ve located that picture-loader thingie.