|
Saturday May 13, 2000
|
|
moving, packing, thinking I'd been up in the night with a leg cramp and to go to the bathroom. But I was sleeping blissfully at 8AM when my dad bursts in and wakes us up. He must have left Dallas at the crack of dawn. Actually, before dawn. I put on my bathrobe and fire up the Capresso for some juice for him and tell him to get the papers and enjoy. We get dressed and take his van with a load of stuff to the new storage center. In spite of getting one very soon after they would rent them, we are really far from the elevator. And, in spite of the newness, there is old this really trashed furniture and crap in boxes and a washer and dryer and a bed frame scattered around the hallways. But the guy brings us a really cool flat dolly. He says the crap is the result of someone wanting to move in after nine and 'we had trouble with them.' I don't really get why that means the crap has to sit around in the hallway. Hopefully, it won't be there next time. We haul these boxes with Mom's collectibles and stuff like that into the unit and Dad arranges them. We put a lock we've bought on it. Dad explains that the second hole is for a lock that the rental people will put on when you haven't paid your rent. There is room in the thing for several more van loads. Probably four or five more. I'm going to drive their other car down next week and store it. Man it will be great when they are moved in and settled. For them, too, I'll bet. Be about a month if we are lucky. Forrest takes Dad on a shopping excursion after we go out to see the new bloomer and see what else is happening in the yard. I print out a packing list and pack a bunch of stuff to take to Dallas. I'm driving so I don't have to worry about how much junk I take. So I throw in shorts and T-Shirts and cross trainers for the work-outs I won't do. I even consider taking tennis shoes and my tennis racket. (They have courts, but time and a partner? Won't happen.) Forrest fixes his (famous) chicken breast sandwiches for lunch. We clean up after that. I pack some more. My dad wants to send an e-mail to his neighbor who moved to Germany for three years. They were gardening buddies. She responds right away and he has an e-mail to take home from her. I've been thinking a lot about all the stuff. My parents have lived in this house over thirty years. Lots of time to accumulate things. They have gotten rid of stuff. Tossed it, donated it, recycled it. Still there is a lot. But I'll bet they have no where near the junk we do simply because we have more places to hide it and more money to buy stuff. I've really got to start thinking about trimming down. I just never seem to find time to organize the mess. Instead, if I have some free time, I write my journal or read books or newspapers or magazines. Or surf the WEB. The mess ebbs and flows. I put away one thing and drag out another. When the guy was here the other morning to spray for roaches and stuff, I scurried around making piles higher and on surfaces so that he could access the baseboards a little. Sometimes I think I'll sell my stuff on e-bay, sell the junk I don't want. But the thing is that anything that is inexpensive enough that I'd consider selling it...isn't worth the time. Anything expensive enough, I wouldn't want to deal with trying to sell. On the flip side...it's way too easy to see cool stuff on e-bay and buy it. I've considered advertising a pile of stuff on e-bay for an Austin-only delivery and try to entice someone else into coming over here and paying me for the stuff and selling it on e-bay. You can't get enough for stuff in garage sales. You might as well give it away if your time is worth anything to you. I stumbled across an old sticky note. Probably four or five years old, it was designed to remind me of my ten New Year's Resolutions. Here it is:bodyt the bottom. |
|
||
|
"People keep diaries because they don't enjoy exposing themselves in conversation and furthermore they trust no one to understand." Dawn Powell, The Diaries of Dawn Powell |
 |
||||
|
The latest bloomer...I've no idea what it is
|
What could all that mean? My theory is it means I was supposed to drink more water, spend thirty minutes per day keeping the house clean and straight, obviously eat more fruit and vegetables, exercise twice a day (??), floss those pearly whites each and every one, do something about my random files, throw something in the trash every day (?), keep up with the piles of newspaper, read a book every week? month?, and learn French. Did I do it? That year, whatever year it was? Why, of course not. But I probably got closer because I tried to remind myself. It was interesting having my dad visit without Mom. We went to dinner at East Side Cafe. We were trying to remember when we'd gone somewhere alone, just the two of us. We couldn't remember. Probably long ago when I lived up there and Mom was in the hospital or something. We enjoyed our meal at East Side. Then we walked through the garden with my dad doing plant ids and mareveling at the tomatoes. Then he stood outside the van and helped me manuever out of that crazy parking lot. (He always likes me to drive it. I can't figure out where the edges of it are, though.) I'm all packed up for another trip. I'm already wishing it were over. Will be soon enough, I guess. |
