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.