About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Welcome, welcome Sabbath morning.

The kids closed on their house Thursday afternoon. I came home from the temple to a house that was significantly less full of boxes than the one I left that morning. We still have their dogs, as the recent rains have made the ground too wet to scrape for the installation of sod in their back yard.

Ways in which marriage has changed me: I woke up, wandered out to the kitchen for a glass of chocolate almond milk, and was greeted by the dogs and our cat. “Good morning, Gracie. Good morning, Cash. Good morning, Cricket.” Walked back into our room and told Beloved that I now talk to animals. (I guess as long as they don’t talk back to me, I am not in Dr. Dolittle territory...)

The move yesterday went remarkably well. This is the first move in fifteen years over which I have not been in total, if relative, control. We knew when we went to bed on Friday night, after spending a couple of hours at the duplex boxing up more stuff, that we were not going to git ‘er all done yesterday. But we got the big pieces, and most of the boxes, brought over while we had the rental truck. My pretty armoire, the worktable in my studio, the Chastity Bed, and the sofa table that Br. Sushi helped me build, still need to come over here, and there are a few dibs and dabs in each of the rooms, but we’ll take care of that next week. My wonderful landlord says not to sweat it.

1BDH, Fourthborn and FiancĂ©, and one of our friends in this ward got us loaded up. 1BDH went off to his study group (he has one more year of college and will graduate in December and by the way turns 40 on Tuesday and hates having a fuss made, so of course I am going to make a fuss; singing may be involved). The kids and my bed and Beloved’s old mattress and the sofa got dropped off at their place. I picked up a gift card for now-eldest grandson, whose birthday was Friday and whose party was yesterday afternoon, tanked Lorelai, grabbed a burger and fries at In N Out (moving apparently requires tons of fried potatoes, because I had an egg sandwich and hash browns as a second breakfast after picking up my kids), and headed over here.

When I got here, Beloved and mutual friend and Mel and Squishy were nearly done unloading the truck. She was playing Tetris with boxes in my studio. The friend went home with instructions for his wife to hug the stuffing out of him. The tribe and I went on to the birthday party (seriously good cake, and I met more of the family). Beloved and I came home and took a nap. He cooked dinner (chicken cutlets, steamed vegetables, and you should worry about me because I actually enjoyed the broccoli and cauliflower, probably because they were consorting with carrots) while I puttered.

I know he was a little frustrated because we didn’t get it all knocked out in one trip. And I was a little frustrated because his chemo schedule means we can’t wait until next weekend and grab another truck, with my spending the next few evenings boxing and packing what’s left, and cleaning the duplex within an inch of its life. But the cool thing is, we were not frustrated with one another, and we were not cranky or short. I don’t mind sharing control with a man who is so quietly and humbly competent.

The timing of our wedding, and the mini-moon, and the delayed closing on the kids’ house, could have turned what we both devoutly hope is the last move into a big ugly mess, and while it was not as smooth or quick or seamless as either would have wished, I am both pleased and relieved at how well it went.

Today’s project, after church, is to move all the wedding gifts that are stacked against one wall out of the way, so that we can move my pretty dresser (the painted one I scored on closeout at Pier One a couple of years ago, with the Indian/Russian motifs and the glass fronts on the drawers and on top, where the dolls have been lounging for the past two+ years) into the bedroom and start filling it with my clothing. The dolls are safely out of the way in what will become our office.

I will probably take a little time off from work, maybe as early as tomorrow afternoon, maybe all day Tuesday depending on how much Beloved gets done while I’m at work tomorrow, to take care of things at the duplex. But first, there is church, and then the kids who just moved out are coming over to grab a few last things (not sure what at this point, but Beloved says they are coming over, and I’m happy to see them and to not have to be in charge of anything), and then I hope another nap.

Feeling a little like one of the pioneer children who sang as they walked, and walked, and walked, and walked, and walked, but there is a good-smelling man standing three feet from me, and it’s my turn for the shower, and the raisin bran is calling my name.

Will leave you with a bit of moving advice: if you are planning a big move on Saturday morning, probably not wise to help consume the last third of a bag of gingersnaps as a bedtime snack on Friday night. The 1812 Overture had nothing on me yesterday!

1 comment:

Jenni said...

Poor D. I warned him that in my family we were slightly prone to underestimating how much time and effort a move requires. I also warned him that it was not likely that he would be showing up and just loading some boxes into the truck. We don't like putting all of our things into the boxes. I wonder if we are afraid something wont come back out?!