The world did not end on May 21, as predicted by apocalyptic Christian broadcaster Harold Camping. I would have been royally pissed if I did all that packing and moving, only to have the world end the day after my big move. Thankfully, it didn't. (Although, as I look around at these stacks boxes and jumbled rooms, the end of the world does hold a certain allure.)
So, the big moving day has come and gone and I have way too much stuff. Despite what felt like a major purge that included a garage sale, much paper shredding, many, many, many charitable donations, and a huge storage space, downsizing from a 3400-square foot house into a 1500-square-foot townhome has convinced me that 10 pounts of s--- won't fit in a 5-pound bag. Fortunately, one of our first pieces of mail was from another charity seeking donations. As I unpack, I've already started a pile of things I was crazy to move. The purge continues.
Even after an exhausting day, it was amusing to watch five grown men try to squeeze a 34-inch wide refrigerator through a 30-inch wide doorway. From our view on the patio, Amanda and I could clearly see the fridge wouldn't fit without removing the doors. Still, they persisted, each mover offering what he thought would be the magic maneuver to make it fit. Thirty minutes later, they took the doors off and squeezed the fridge in the house.
This move would not have happened without tremendous help from Amanda and Nathan, who each did yeoman's work, most of it without complaint. Off to a slow start, soon-to-be-ex Mark even came through in the end. My Realtor friend Grace put in countless hours hauling me around over the last year as I struggled to picture myself in a different place. My friend Maggie pitched in with numerous packing and hauling tasks. She even had a great idea for arranging furniture in the new place. Other friends who pitched in included my long-time buddy Shari, my bookstore partner Denise, my (long-ago) walking buddy Martha and her husband Bill. Amanda's friend Ashley and Nathan's friend Alex also came to my aid. Even the friends who didn't physically pitch in gave much needed moral support along the way. Nothing like a life crisis (or two) to help you figure out who your friends are. Thank you every one!!!
Back to boxes ...
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Moving on, literally and figuratively
My house looks like it's been ransacked, but packing does that to you. The sale of our house of nearly 14 years is proceeding smoothly with closing scheduled for May 20. (We'll have 3 days after that to vacate the premises.) Amanda and I spent lots of time looking at rental options on realtor.com and, with the help of my Realtor friend Grace, we settled on a townhouse in Lake Forest, about 20 minutes from here. Now that we have a new place lined up, everything else seems so much more real.
The owner has been nice enough to allow us patio access before the lease even starts, so we've made several trips over with my multitude of potted plants, plant stands and assorted tables and chairs. After decades of gardening in yards where the work is never done, I'm looking forward to "container" gardening where I might actually get everything looking good and be able to relax and enjoy the outdoor space without thinking: "There's another flower bed that needs weeding or planting."
Nathan's home for three weeks, so I have some muscle at my disposal. Typical Nathan, he called me Thursday afternoon on his way to the airport in Longview, Texas. He was 15 minutes away for a flight that was leaving in 20 minutes. Arrrrrgh. Actually, the Longview airport is so small that he had a slight chance of still making the flight. But, alas, the doors to the plane were closed so he had to bunk in with a friend and fly out Friday. It's good to have him home and if he ever stands still long enough, I want to measure his height. I swear he's taller than 6-foot-3.
Nathan was one of my concerns in rental house hunting. He'll hardly be in California for the coming year (summer in Ohio playing in a wood-bat league and then his final year of college in Texas). Amanda and I could have made due with a two-bedroom, but I wanted him to have "a space to call home." The townhouse has four bedrooms (tiny, tiny, tiny), so even Sparky gets a room!
Mark is "too busy" to find a place, so he's opting to live in a hotel for the coming year. With rents so high in California and his company's corporate discount at this hotel, it makes sense financially. Personally, I think it's strange, but I keep reminding myself I don't (pick your verb) get to / have to / need to manage his life anymore.
Chemo looms tomorrow — my sixth of 12 treatments — so the rest of the week will be wiped out. Hopefully by the weekend when the lease starts, I'll rally and be able to make a few trips over with lamps, pictures and other assorted stuff that's too hard to pack up for movers to handle. I've got some friends lined up to make some car trips and once my "stuff" starts to occupy my new space, a new page will be turned in my life.
One wrinkle: A few weeks ago, I rolled over to sleep on my stomach and felt a lumpy thing in my abdomen. Lumpy things are scary when you already have cancer. I mentioned it to my oncologist, who felt it and decided to order an ultrasound. (The ultrasound experience may be a blog entry of its own titled: "What's wrong with medicine today.") Anyway, best thinking is it's a seroma, which is "a pocket of clear serous fluid that sometimes develops in the body after surgery. When small blood vessels are ruptured, blood plasma can seep out; inflammation caused by dying injured cells also contributes to the fluid." (Thank you, Wikipedia.) This apparently has been developing since my January colon resection surgery. In the short term, it means a trip to my surgeon, Dr. Shaver, for a look-see on Thursday. In the long term, it could mean needle aspiration of the fluid or surgery to place a drain in my gut. Neither one sounds like fun, but at least no one is thinking it's a new tumor. Just one more hurdle on my road back to health.
The owner has been nice enough to allow us patio access before the lease even starts, so we've made several trips over with my multitude of potted plants, plant stands and assorted tables and chairs. After decades of gardening in yards where the work is never done, I'm looking forward to "container" gardening where I might actually get everything looking good and be able to relax and enjoy the outdoor space without thinking: "There's another flower bed that needs weeding or planting."
Nathan's home for three weeks, so I have some muscle at my disposal. Typical Nathan, he called me Thursday afternoon on his way to the airport in Longview, Texas. He was 15 minutes away for a flight that was leaving in 20 minutes. Arrrrrgh. Actually, the Longview airport is so small that he had a slight chance of still making the flight. But, alas, the doors to the plane were closed so he had to bunk in with a friend and fly out Friday. It's good to have him home and if he ever stands still long enough, I want to measure his height. I swear he's taller than 6-foot-3.
Nathan was one of my concerns in rental house hunting. He'll hardly be in California for the coming year (summer in Ohio playing in a wood-bat league and then his final year of college in Texas). Amanda and I could have made due with a two-bedroom, but I wanted him to have "a space to call home." The townhouse has four bedrooms (tiny, tiny, tiny), so even Sparky gets a room!
Mark is "too busy" to find a place, so he's opting to live in a hotel for the coming year. With rents so high in California and his company's corporate discount at this hotel, it makes sense financially. Personally, I think it's strange, but I keep reminding myself I don't (pick your verb) get to / have to / need to manage his life anymore.
Chemo looms tomorrow — my sixth of 12 treatments — so the rest of the week will be wiped out. Hopefully by the weekend when the lease starts, I'll rally and be able to make a few trips over with lamps, pictures and other assorted stuff that's too hard to pack up for movers to handle. I've got some friends lined up to make some car trips and once my "stuff" starts to occupy my new space, a new page will be turned in my life.
One wrinkle: A few weeks ago, I rolled over to sleep on my stomach and felt a lumpy thing in my abdomen. Lumpy things are scary when you already have cancer. I mentioned it to my oncologist, who felt it and decided to order an ultrasound. (The ultrasound experience may be a blog entry of its own titled: "What's wrong with medicine today.") Anyway, best thinking is it's a seroma, which is "a pocket of clear serous fluid that sometimes develops in the body after surgery. When small blood vessels are ruptured, blood plasma can seep out; inflammation caused by dying injured cells also contributes to the fluid." (Thank you, Wikipedia.) This apparently has been developing since my January colon resection surgery. In the short term, it means a trip to my surgeon, Dr. Shaver, for a look-see on Thursday. In the long term, it could mean needle aspiration of the fluid or surgery to place a drain in my gut. Neither one sounds like fun, but at least no one is thinking it's a new tumor. Just one more hurdle on my road back to health.
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