Thursday, October 29, 2009
Today is Billy Lee Sullivan’s 60th birthday. Billy Lee and I were sweethearts from fifth grade through our freshman year, even though my family had moved to California after sixth grade. Many years later, after Jerry and I had moved back to Tennessee (Jade was a year old), Billy and I reconnected and I have maintained a friendship with him and his wife for now over thirty years, attending birth events of all three of their daughters and the funeral of his mom, Opie, from bone cancer. Happy birthday, old red-headed friend!
I am writing on a TV tray in the den, my coffee rested below it on one of the children’s chairs. The table to the children’s set is perched high on boxes in the garage and I just figure we’ll let it rest where it is until some more organization magically occurs. See, that’s the trouble… there is no magic to this mess, only tedious work. I keep trying to estimate how long it is going to take us to be “all set up.” I’ve given the projection of 150 days, based on eliminating two boxes per day, following my sight-count of 300 boxes.
Two boxes a day may seem conservative, maybe even lazy, but you see, I have to account for time-outs for corrections (the whole dining room is to be repainted) and finishing up the punch list (let’s see – hang new fixture in dining room, carpet stairwell landing, install new light fixtures in stairwell, repaint a wall in the hallway, resurface and paint the ceilings in the master suite and adjoining bathroom). Two of those items require moving furniture in those rooms. In fact, there is a pie safe that contains its own set of breakables that cannot be filled until the dining room is painted. That means that any boxes of those items will have to be repacked until the aforementioned painting event is concluded. Which leads me to some information I ought to tell about “the boxes…”
The boxes have their own problems. 1. Some of the boxes are rickety, soft, and wampus. That’s because they are used boxes. I don’t object to using used boxes, but there is a certain point at which said boxes might be at “end-stage.” I can envision some of them as re-fashioned comforters on a cold night. 2. Some of the boxes are too heavy for me to move by myself – and they are stacked! 3. Some of the boxes contain items from more than one source. That means I have to unpack every box to make sure there isn’t something in there that I really need right now.
Now, all of the above properties of the boxes, combined, dictate that, whenever I am dealing with inherited and gifted glassware, I have to unpack it and re-pack it in smaller boxes for some future date when I can safely place it in cabinets, shelves, or pie safes. (I wonder why that wouldn’t be “saves?”) And that leads me to the cabinets and shelves.
This kitchen I’m cavorting in these days is compact. I love it – but it’s forced me to make choices about what to keep, what to throw away, what to relegate to the studio kitchen. (Oh yeah, there is a studio kitchen.) The studio kitchen has very little cabinetry, but I’ve fashioned a rather snazzy food and butler’s pantry in a nook with the freezer and refrigerator down there. Snap-together PVC shelves from Wal-Mart are high on my list of most useful modern inventions. And then, there are the items that must be kept in a different place than they were at the old house and I must find the “different place” at the new house. Yesterday, a victory…
My daughter-in-law Vicky came over to help. I told her I needed her to help me think more than anything else. “For instance,” I said, “What shall I tackle next? The contractors are coming today to finish the punch list and to get the dishwasher going.“ (We had no power to the dishwasher, for some reason.) What I should have said was that the contractors were supposed to come… because they didn’t. But I’m glad Vicky and I acted as if they were coming!
“Here, look at this armoire.” I opened the doors to the entertainment case that Dave and I had bought and painted the first week we were married. “I’m wondering – since we have the TV on the wall in here, don’t you think I could make the top of this thing a wine and liquor cabinet?”
“Oh yeah – now that is a great idea! You could add some shelves and even get some of those wire racks that hold stemware. What a great idea.” It was just what I needed to hear.
“Well, then, maybe we should just go to Lowe’s. Maybe we could measure for blinds here in the den and downstairs in the studio and go get some shelves cut and all that. How long are you here for?”
“Don’t have another thing planned until I have to pick up Carly at two. Probably need to leave here by 1:30. Let’s go.”
We found faux wood blinds to order – with red strips to cover the string holes. We found planks of wood and had them cut to 31 ½ inches. We found brackets and wire racks for hanging wineglasses by their bottoms. We found lunch at La Terraza. What did we care that the contractors did not come to get power to the dishwasher or finish the punch list? I was being nurtured and nourished, and Vicky was nurturing and nourishing.
“Where have you been?” Dave was only slightly demanding.
“We went shopping!” Vicky answered for me. “Wait until you see the blinds we’ve got for you!”
“I love that girl,” I told Dave, as she scooted out of the driveway toward the pre-school.
***
I unpacked one large dish barrel and filled three smaller boxes and labeled them “Pie Safe Pie Safe Pie Safe Pie Safe Pie Safe.”
“You’re just worn out, aren’t you?” I asked Dave. He was in his recliner with his eyes closed.
“I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m worn out. What are we doing for dinner?”
“Well, you’re eating the leftovers of my lunch fajitas – and there’s a lot of it – and I’m going to have some leftover ham. I’m cooking some spinach in the microwave.”
“That sounds good.” My, our standards have fallen a bit lately.
“Those guys aren’t coming today, are they?”
“Well, if they do, I bet it will be seven or eight tonight.”
“Nope, dammit,” I said. “Not gonna do it. This is ridiculous.”
“We have to get them when we can get them. Neil has another job.”
“Well, shit. You’re exhausted and I’ve been up since 3:30. I can’t do it.”
“Okayyyyyy,” he said.
I was in my jammies about 7:30. The phone rang at 8. “Yep – come on,” Dave said.
***
This morning I crawled in bed with Dave about 6:30.
“I ran the dishwasher,” he said.
“Was it just Neil?”
“Yep.”
“How long was he here?”
“I think he finished up about 10:45 and we drank a beer.”
“Did he get Mom and Dad’s hooked up?”
“Yep. All of them.”
“Did he mention hanging that light in the dining room?”
“Nope. I don’t think he knew he was supposed to do that.”
“Okay. I’ll call Johnny today and see what he plans to do about the rest.”
“You want to sleep some more?”
“Yeah, give me a couple of hours, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll go down to the den and be quiet. I’ve got some writing to get out of the way.”
I’ll be sure to tell more about the reasons for the “two box a day” calculation. It’s not just the boxes, alternate use of space and furnishings, contractor delays. There’s life that goes on, too, and living within every system of our existence. There’s family – kids, grandkids and parents, church, old friends/new friends and their journeys… Life and living goes on.
The glasses and silverware were absolutely sparkling when I opened the dishwasher door.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Soon it's gonna rain....
I am writing on the porch at the new house. The movers came Thursday, the 15th. And the next day, Friday. And they came again yesterday, the 21st. They pronounced a completion of the project. I've been gathering up the remains at the old house today. We still haven't picked up the stragglers from the attic, the deck, the patio, the garage. But the painter is there, making all nice for the next folks to live at 1073 Beech Tree Lane.
Over at Millerwood Drive, there are boxes everywhere. Most of them are actually somewhere where they don't belong. We chip away at the job, unpacking a few boxes until backs, knees, and a bit of asthma protest enough that we call it a day. I'm tempted to get whiny about this whole process.
I called it a day about four o'clock this afternoon. I soaked in a warm tub, put on my jammies and headed for the porch. Ahhhhhhhhhhh, so now I see one of the benefits of the new place. It's going to rain soon - I can feel it. And I am in my favorite rocker on the porch, laptop in my lap on a pillow. Our deck was uncovered at the old place, so I never sat out in the rain.
Ever so often, I go lean over the rail to look at the porch we put on the attached apartment for Mom and Dad. We are anxious to have them here so close and we're making all things ready for their move-in date of November 4th. Their apartment attaches to our house via what Dave calls a skybridge. I imagine Murphy, our black and white Shi-tzu, running over to say "Good morning." I can almost hear the grandkids squealing on their way to visit GrandmaMA and GrandpaPA.
Time to stop whining about all the work. Change is always difficult, but my change is tiny compared to my parents' leaving the family farm and the big old famrhouse that my dad built, stick by stick by stick, all from salvaged materials.
I smell the rain, hear some fat drops on the driveway. Murphy and I will stay out here a while, breathing in the freshness, feeling the cool. The boxes will wait. There shall be showers of blessing...
Over at Millerwood Drive, there are boxes everywhere. Most of them are actually somewhere where they don't belong. We chip away at the job, unpacking a few boxes until backs, knees, and a bit of asthma protest enough that we call it a day. I'm tempted to get whiny about this whole process.
I called it a day about four o'clock this afternoon. I soaked in a warm tub, put on my jammies and headed for the porch. Ahhhhhhhhhhh, so now I see one of the benefits of the new place. It's going to rain soon - I can feel it. And I am in my favorite rocker on the porch, laptop in my lap on a pillow. Our deck was uncovered at the old place, so I never sat out in the rain.
Ever so often, I go lean over the rail to look at the porch we put on the attached apartment for Mom and Dad. We are anxious to have them here so close and we're making all things ready for their move-in date of November 4th. Their apartment attaches to our house via what Dave calls a skybridge. I imagine Murphy, our black and white Shi-tzu, running over to say "Good morning." I can almost hear the grandkids squealing on their way to visit GrandmaMA and GrandpaPA.
Time to stop whining about all the work. Change is always difficult, but my change is tiny compared to my parents' leaving the family farm and the big old famrhouse that my dad built, stick by stick by stick, all from salvaged materials.
I smell the rain, hear some fat drops on the driveway. Murphy and I will stay out here a while, breathing in the freshness, feeling the cool. The boxes will wait. There shall be showers of blessing...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Moving....Day 7
I'm already at that point where there's a certain amount of joy over a broken glass...it means I don't have to find a place to put it! We have more total space at this new "house" (hereinafter referred to as "compound") than at Beech Tree Lane, but it's all in such different places. NONE of the additional square footage is in the kitchen cabinets - in either of the THREE kitchens.
Well, actually, the kitchen in the "apartment" doesn't count because Mom and Dad will fill those cabinets on November 4. But there is a full kitchen in my new digs in the efficiency apartment (to be called "the studio") in the walkout basement. I get six hundred square feet of office, kitchen, bath and laundry room. How did I wind up with the laundry room, anyway? But about that kitchen down there...
There's only one small cabinet, but there's this nook where bunches of shelves can hold the overflow from the upstairs kitchen. Here's my strategy: whatever won't fit in the upstairs kitchen, I'll take to the studio kitchen shelves. Mom keeps talking about throwing this big garage sale party in the spring, when we both know what we need here, and what we don't. I figure I'll shelve all these extras until April and then I'll survey the shelves for dust. Whatever has a measurable five months of covering goes in the garage sale!
Jameson and Carly, the two local grand-rugrats, are coming for their first sleep-over Friday night. We'll go down to the studio and I'll pop in some DVD's on heavy equipment, or cooking, or whales - all very popular with J & C. Jameson will watch and provide play-by-play while Carly hands me stuff for the shelves.
This morning I looked out the picture window to the back yard; that's become my first-thing habit already. The porch (or is it a deck?) is finished on Mom and Dad's apartment. I'm imagining Mom watering geraniums and petunias and begonias. I can just see Daddy making a slow but determined descent to his garden.
This is all worth it.
Well, actually, the kitchen in the "apartment" doesn't count because Mom and Dad will fill those cabinets on November 4. But there is a full kitchen in my new digs in the efficiency apartment (to be called "the studio") in the walkout basement. I get six hundred square feet of office, kitchen, bath and laundry room. How did I wind up with the laundry room, anyway? But about that kitchen down there...
There's only one small cabinet, but there's this nook where bunches of shelves can hold the overflow from the upstairs kitchen. Here's my strategy: whatever won't fit in the upstairs kitchen, I'll take to the studio kitchen shelves. Mom keeps talking about throwing this big garage sale party in the spring, when we both know what we need here, and what we don't. I figure I'll shelve all these extras until April and then I'll survey the shelves for dust. Whatever has a measurable five months of covering goes in the garage sale!
Jameson and Carly, the two local grand-rugrats, are coming for their first sleep-over Friday night. We'll go down to the studio and I'll pop in some DVD's on heavy equipment, or cooking, or whales - all very popular with J & C. Jameson will watch and provide play-by-play while Carly hands me stuff for the shelves.
This morning I looked out the picture window to the back yard; that's become my first-thing habit already. The porch (or is it a deck?) is finished on Mom and Dad's apartment. I'm imagining Mom watering geraniums and petunias and begonias. I can just see Daddy making a slow but determined descent to his garden.
This is all worth it.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Surprise.
In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue…. He sailed and he sailed and he sailed and he sailed – And he found this place for me and you!
I woke up at 3 am singing this song. I imagine old Columbus and his merry mates were pretty surprised to find that what they thought was going to be China turned out to be somewhere close to Nassau – or did they ever know?
Normally, Columbus Day wouldn’t make that big an impression on me, but I’ve been planning, for several months, to be in Fulton, KY on Columbus Day to rescue Mom and Dad from the train. (They've been to Reno to visit my brother for a whole month!) But Saturday Mom called to say, “We’re stopped dead in our tracks – hahahhahahahhaha” in Greeley, Colorado and it took almost five hours to repair the tracks from something or the other. Surprise - they arrived in Chicago last night too late to make the connection to Fulton. I’ll go to Kentucky tomorrow morning instead of today.
After breakfast, I set a timer and started cleaning out the front closet; you know, the one that extends w-a-y back under that stairwell. I was surprised that I was not surprised; I didn’t find one thing in there that I didn’t know was there. Now, given the general status of every storage area in this too-large house, that may be akin to a miracle.
I was surprised by how long it took me to go through that closet. I thought forty minutes would get it. Then I added twenty more. It finally took me an hour and a half to find, organize, and return the contents to the closet.
Then it was off to the new house to unload our pickup truck. Dave and the boys had filled it with junk from under the deck and the Capuccino Brothers (that’s what we call our contractors – C’mon, I met them at Starbucks) just hauled in a dumpster to the new property. Truck unloaded and the rescue of several terra cotta pots and sauces complete, I opened the basement door to check on the leveling of the floor.
Nothing. Nada. Just like I left it on Friday. Yikes, I said to myself. Actually, I said “yikes” without even a capital Y; I’ve surprised myself with my ability to respond calmly to these little up-enders. The carpet guys will be here tomorrow morning at 8, I reminded the air. So then my calm left and I said all manner of words except “yikes” and they all had capital letters.
“Are you going to call Johnny?” Dave interrupted my cursing.
“Yes, but I need to wait. I’ll call him after my pedicure.”
Why, you ask, is a pedicure even a second thought during this season of household purging, moving, and rooting around, not to mention the trips to Kentucky and the attention to the new eating program? Well, it’s like this: a chunk of my big toenail tore off and it looked ugly and felt even worse. My hands are dry and crackly. And, besides that, Lan Nguyen always makes me feel better.
Dolce Nail was full, but she was waiting for me at the front door. “You come in and I help you. You caught me at a good time today. You pick out color.” I grabbed the lightest pink I could find on the carousel shelf and held it out to her.
“You want light color? Why you want light today? How about this?” She showed me the brightest, darkest fuchsia in the new OPI colors. “It’s new color.”
“This toenail, Lan.” I pointed to my right foot. “Don’t you think I should use light so it doesn’t show so much?”
“It’s okay.”
“Light?”
“Yeah, if you want light. You don’t like this?” The fuchsia again.
“You want me to get dark, don’t you?”
“Well, you need be happy, Diana.”
“So – the light pink.”
“This make you happier.” She showed me the fuchsia again in her palm. She’s going to win this one, and I am not surprised.
“Okay, okay,” I said, and then I picked up a deep cherry. “This one – it looks like my new kitchen.”
“Oh yeah, you gonna like this. Come – sit in chair.”
Lan brought me a glass of wine and insisted that I lie back. I don’t like to lie back but I obeyed. She promised me that, even though she would be speaking Vietnamese to everyone around her, none of it would be about me, or even anything I wanted to hear. (Isn’t that what we worry about?)
When she answered the phone in the middle of scrubbing my heels, her face lit up and I heard “Miss Diana” in a torrent of other words.
“Is that Hyung?” I sat up. “Tell him hello for me.”
“You tell him,” she said and handed me the phone.
“This is nice surprise. I have not seen you for a long time,” he said. “Every time I am in town, you don’t come.” He pauses. “But I’m so happy you are there and you still support my business.”
“I wouldn’t ever leave Lan, Hyung. Are you in New Orleans?”
“Yes, and I will be in Nashville next on October 23 – that weekend. I bet you don’t need to come on October 23.”
I will make a point of having a manicure that weekend just to surprise Lan’s long-distance husband, who I’ve come to love as much as I love her.
“You go out to dinner tonight?” Lan asked.
“No, I’d have to clean up and I don’t have that kind of energy,” I answered.
Tell me what she says, Lan asks her employee at the next footbath.
”Ahhhhhh,” Lan tells me with understanding. “So you want another glass of wine?”
“No, thanks. I’d have to spend the night with you if I had another glass of wine.”
Tell me what she says, again.
“That would be fine. My mother - she could cook for you.”
***
I called Dave at 4 pm, just driving out of the parking lot in Nolensville. “I’m on my way. Did you put the turkey in?”
“Yep – she’s cooking.” (I suppose he said "she" because it's really not a whole turkey - it's a turkey breast.)
“Okay, I have some instant dressing and we have a can of green beans.”
“Did you call Johnny?”
“Just did. He pretty much told me off.”
“Really? You mean, he was ugly to you?”
“No, I think he wanted to be mean but he was restraining himself. He just said this is his deadline. ‘You have your deadlines and I have mine – You worry about your deadlines and I’ll worry about mine.’”
“So, do you think he’ll be done by tomorrow morning?”
“Don’t know. We’ll just have to wait until the carpet guys get there.”
***
The turkey breast, Stove Top, and green beans were wonderful but I had no seconds. Dave cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. The remaining turkey breast needed to cool before we refrigerated it. Mom called to say that they would not know for sure when they would be in Fulton until they got to Chicago – about 8 p.m. our time – and that she would call as soon as they let her know the plans. There was some possibility that a bus would take them to Fulton.
Dave and I agreed that I would go to bed early in case I still had to drive to Kentucky. Mom would call and, if necessary, Dave would set my alarm for 4 am. At 1 a.m. I sat up in bed and looked to see if the alarm was set. It wasn’t.
It was a day of small – or maybe not so small – victories. Front closet done. Big crafts closet upstairs half done. Hands and feet so much better. “Home-cooked” meal enjoyed. I stayed within my alotted calories – and did not take even one little pinch of that scrumptious turkey breast when I put it in a plastic bag and stowed it in the frig. Surprise.
I woke up at 3 am singing this song. I imagine old Columbus and his merry mates were pretty surprised to find that what they thought was going to be China turned out to be somewhere close to Nassau – or did they ever know?
Normally, Columbus Day wouldn’t make that big an impression on me, but I’ve been planning, for several months, to be in Fulton, KY on Columbus Day to rescue Mom and Dad from the train. (They've been to Reno to visit my brother for a whole month!) But Saturday Mom called to say, “We’re stopped dead in our tracks – hahahhahahahhaha” in Greeley, Colorado and it took almost five hours to repair the tracks from something or the other. Surprise - they arrived in Chicago last night too late to make the connection to Fulton. I’ll go to Kentucky tomorrow morning instead of today.
After breakfast, I set a timer and started cleaning out the front closet; you know, the one that extends w-a-y back under that stairwell. I was surprised that I was not surprised; I didn’t find one thing in there that I didn’t know was there. Now, given the general status of every storage area in this too-large house, that may be akin to a miracle.
I was surprised by how long it took me to go through that closet. I thought forty minutes would get it. Then I added twenty more. It finally took me an hour and a half to find, organize, and return the contents to the closet.
Then it was off to the new house to unload our pickup truck. Dave and the boys had filled it with junk from under the deck and the Capuccino Brothers (that’s what we call our contractors – C’mon, I met them at Starbucks) just hauled in a dumpster to the new property. Truck unloaded and the rescue of several terra cotta pots and sauces complete, I opened the basement door to check on the leveling of the floor.
Nothing. Nada. Just like I left it on Friday. Yikes, I said to myself. Actually, I said “yikes” without even a capital Y; I’ve surprised myself with my ability to respond calmly to these little up-enders. The carpet guys will be here tomorrow morning at 8, I reminded the air. So then my calm left and I said all manner of words except “yikes” and they all had capital letters.
“Are you going to call Johnny?” Dave interrupted my cursing.
“Yes, but I need to wait. I’ll call him after my pedicure.”
Why, you ask, is a pedicure even a second thought during this season of household purging, moving, and rooting around, not to mention the trips to Kentucky and the attention to the new eating program? Well, it’s like this: a chunk of my big toenail tore off and it looked ugly and felt even worse. My hands are dry and crackly. And, besides that, Lan Nguyen always makes me feel better.
Dolce Nail was full, but she was waiting for me at the front door. “You come in and I help you. You caught me at a good time today. You pick out color.” I grabbed the lightest pink I could find on the carousel shelf and held it out to her.
“You want light color? Why you want light today? How about this?” She showed me the brightest, darkest fuchsia in the new OPI colors. “It’s new color.”
“This toenail, Lan.” I pointed to my right foot. “Don’t you think I should use light so it doesn’t show so much?”
“It’s okay.”
“Light?”
“Yeah, if you want light. You don’t like this?” The fuchsia again.
“You want me to get dark, don’t you?”
“Well, you need be happy, Diana.”
“So – the light pink.”
“This make you happier.” She showed me the fuchsia again in her palm. She’s going to win this one, and I am not surprised.
“Okay, okay,” I said, and then I picked up a deep cherry. “This one – it looks like my new kitchen.”
“Oh yeah, you gonna like this. Come – sit in chair.”
Lan brought me a glass of wine and insisted that I lie back. I don’t like to lie back but I obeyed. She promised me that, even though she would be speaking Vietnamese to everyone around her, none of it would be about me, or even anything I wanted to hear. (Isn’t that what we worry about?)
When she answered the phone in the middle of scrubbing my heels, her face lit up and I heard “Miss Diana” in a torrent of other words.
“Is that Hyung?” I sat up. “Tell him hello for me.”
“You tell him,” she said and handed me the phone.
“This is nice surprise. I have not seen you for a long time,” he said. “Every time I am in town, you don’t come.” He pauses. “But I’m so happy you are there and you still support my business.”
“I wouldn’t ever leave Lan, Hyung. Are you in New Orleans?”
“Yes, and I will be in Nashville next on October 23 – that weekend. I bet you don’t need to come on October 23.”
I will make a point of having a manicure that weekend just to surprise Lan’s long-distance husband, who I’ve come to love as much as I love her.
“You go out to dinner tonight?” Lan asked.
“No, I’d have to clean up and I don’t have that kind of energy,” I answered.
Tell me what she says, Lan asks her employee at the next footbath.
”Ahhhhhh,” Lan tells me with understanding. “So you want another glass of wine?”
“No, thanks. I’d have to spend the night with you if I had another glass of wine.”
Tell me what she says, again.
“That would be fine. My mother - she could cook for you.”
***
I called Dave at 4 pm, just driving out of the parking lot in Nolensville. “I’m on my way. Did you put the turkey in?”
“Yep – she’s cooking.” (I suppose he said "she" because it's really not a whole turkey - it's a turkey breast.)
“Okay, I have some instant dressing and we have a can of green beans.”
“Did you call Johnny?”
“Just did. He pretty much told me off.”
“Really? You mean, he was ugly to you?”
“No, I think he wanted to be mean but he was restraining himself. He just said this is his deadline. ‘You have your deadlines and I have mine – You worry about your deadlines and I’ll worry about mine.’”
“So, do you think he’ll be done by tomorrow morning?”
“Don’t know. We’ll just have to wait until the carpet guys get there.”
***
The turkey breast, Stove Top, and green beans were wonderful but I had no seconds. Dave cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. The remaining turkey breast needed to cool before we refrigerated it. Mom called to say that they would not know for sure when they would be in Fulton until they got to Chicago – about 8 p.m. our time – and that she would call as soon as they let her know the plans. There was some possibility that a bus would take them to Fulton.
Dave and I agreed that I would go to bed early in case I still had to drive to Kentucky. Mom would call and, if necessary, Dave would set my alarm for 4 am. At 1 a.m. I sat up in bed and looked to see if the alarm was set. It wasn’t.
It was a day of small – or maybe not so small – victories. Front closet done. Big crafts closet upstairs half done. Hands and feet so much better. “Home-cooked” meal enjoyed. I stayed within my alotted calories – and did not take even one little pinch of that scrumptious turkey breast when I put it in a plastic bag and stowed it in the frig. Surprise.
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