My place has that certain something, don't you think? What is that something? Chaos!
Los Altos, California 7:00 a.m. My favorite image from moving day--Saturday, February 7, 2009--is of the young man the B/M movers hired (from in front of the Walmart, I'm guessing) coming up the stairs with a box marked FRAGILE, holding it about waist high, dropping it to the floor with a thud and saying to me: "Is here okay?" [The same day I wrote the above line, I found the plate at the bottom of that very box: smithereens.]
What a fun day we had.
The trouble is, though I've unpacked for two straight days, there are still so many boxes around I can't figure out where they are coming from. And worse yet, my house looks like one of those apartments owned by a little old lady who has way too many things and way too little space and the place looks overrun with knick knacks.
Wait. I am a little old lady. I do have too many knick knacks.
The only really bad part so far, except for the entire day the movers were here, and the two days since, is that I can't yet get into my office. I'm working at the kitchen table this morning, and that isn't so bad, as the coffee maker is percolating behind me and there is a fire in the fireplace to dispel the chill of the morning.
Now, if I could just find my printer.
The first two nights, the chill was a bit too nippy: it was 48 degrees (F) outside, and the gas heater hadn't been turned on nor the pilot light lit, so I was definitely roughing it. I had a fire in the fireplace then also, but it was so windy outside the smoke blew back down the chimney and all day I smelled like a Camp Fire Girl. Plus, my smoke alarm kept going off and waking the neighbors. But other than that, my first few days in the new place have been a laugh riot.
My Dad is a little confused. For the first week I stayed at my parents' home and he thought that was great. Now I'm over there for dinner, but then I leave to go "home" and he says, "But this is your home." He knows I have a place nearby but he forgets from time to time. He's told me he plans to walk over, and five years ago he could have, striding the mile's distance on his long legs in record time. But now he's using a walker and his walking is limited to a half block or so, not a mile.
After my sister and brother-in-law arrived with the Volvo, and before the horror of moving day, we found a place to buy genuine Los Altos Blenheim dried apricots (more about that later) and we drove up into the hills to buy them. It was a cold, rainy day, but the hills were covered with the soft yellow blooms of wild mustard. Just wait until the apricot trees are in blossom in a few weeks.
Moving has been difficult. But I know I am going to like being home.
P.S. I just hope we don't have an earthquake before I get all the knick knacks stuck down with Sticky Strips.
The Swedish car lived in Florida for the first four years of her life and said to me Friday: "It rains here in the winter?" Anyway, I got to test her heater for the first time.