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Tue 26 Jun, 2007 02:52 pm
If People magazine thinks Matthew Mcconaughey is the sexiest man alive it is only because they haven't met my garbage man.
Having followed his truck up and down the street for the last four years, Mo and I have come to know him quite well. Two years ago his wife had twins - a boy and a girl. (I can't believe how big they're getting!) He has a masters degree in bio-chemestry and a masters degree in education. He left teaching because he makes more mone and gets better benefits driving a garbage truck. Plus, it gives him time to think.
Plus, plus, he's gorgeous.
Today Mo decided that he wanted to give the garbage man a hat. We are getting ready to move and, despite the fact that we have neither found a new house or put ours on the market, Mo has decided that he needs to give some things away to help people remember him. Yesterday he wanted to give his friend Eddie Haskell a chair and I had to nix that but a hat to the garbage man sounded like a fine idea.
When we heard the truck we raced outside, hat in hand, to present the gift. Mo was richly repaid with a personal tour of the truck interior and tutorial on how to operate the hydrolic claw. Good stuff.
It made me realize just how hard it is to move. If saying goodbye to the garbage man is this hard I'm really not sure how I'm going to handle the next two months.
I thought that one way to make it easier would be to share my moving stories with you and that maybe you could share some of yours with me. Sound like fun?
I'll start:
My misson is to transform our home into a bland, soulless, your name here type of place. That means that the explosion at the crayola factory theme has to be toned down a bit.
I decided to start with the kitchen -- the room most in need of blandization, I disassembled the cabinetry and hit the paint store in seach of white. "No, not that white. I need a green based white. That's close but I really need a green based white that trends more towards yellow than blue. Now we're getting somewhere! Oh yeah -- you'd better give me some primer too. Lots of primer."
The next morning was a little cloudy so I laid out the cabinet doors on the floor of the garage and put down a coat of primer. Later I added another coat. What could possibly go wrong?
So what went wrong? Biscuit, the non-murderous hunter cat brought a live bird into the garage, that's what. Release. Catch. Release. Catch. It took a few minutes for me to grope through the fur and feathers to hit the garage door opener. That startled Biscuit and the bird made a break for it. I scooped up the cat and put her in the house. The bird landed on the driveway to collect itself. After a few minutes it peep-peeped and flew away.
A happy ending expect for my cabinets. Luckily they were nearly dry so I was able to dust them off with only a little damage. I put down another coat of primer for good measure.
Finally finished with stage one I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to admire my handiwork when Mo wanders in, arms akimbo, takes a look at the cabinet doors and says in total seriousness "Mom. That color is hideous."
Today was a bit better.
But I'm really going to miss my garbage man.
Well, since I've lived in the same house for 28 years, I can't really relate. I've come to listen, though. You tell the best stories Mrs. B.
You do tell the best stories, it's true!
I've moved at least twenty times in my 48 years. I used to be the kind of person who was sentimental about moving, but I changed at some point. I guess I've learned that there will be new places and people to love, no matter where I go. Hmm, that's not a bad thing, is it?
Why thank you ladies.
My family was very gypsyesque. We traveled.
That sounds too glamourous. We moved. Then we moved. Then we moved. Sometimes we moved just a few blocks. One time we moved to another house on the same block.
I recall having to fill out a student loan application. They wanted my address' for the last five years. I took me two pages.
I have lived in this house for about twelve years. I have never lived anywhere as long. I'm finding it insanely difficult to leave but I have to put on a happy face for a variety of reasons.
I think the reason that it is so hard to leave is because all my "nevers" evaporated here: never will I live in the suburbs, never will I love this house, never will I make friends here, never will I become middle aged, never will I raise a child, never will I have a parent die, never will I not work.....
Never, never, never.
All gone.
When we moved in here we were poor and optimistic and determined and it paid off. As did our frugality. Now we can go where we want without stopping in the in-between.
Now we're looking for a house to grow old in. Someplace Mo can become a teenager who thinks we're clueless. Someplace he will later bring someone he loves to meet us. Somewhere maybe he'll bring his own kids for us to spoil. Someplace we'll never leave. Someplace to explode another box of crayons.
Mr. B is good at staying.
He doesn't mind white.
He always sleeps much better than me.
I am moving traumatised.
May the Force bless you and keep you all in this endeavour.
I have this weird theory that once you get a place absolutely right, you'll end up moving.
So, now that I don't love moving as much as I once did, I'm kind of phobic about completing projects around the house.
It's a wee bit of an issue.
ehBeth wrote:I have this weird theory that once you get a place absolutely right, you'll end up moving.
So, now that I don't love moving as much as I once did, I'm kind of phobic about completing projects around the house.
It's a wee bit of an issue.
I grok.
However.....break on through to the other side, goil!
Taking a seat.
I used to love moving. When I was single and new to Raleigh I only signed 6 month contracts. I knew I would be tired of one place and want to have a new environment / layout in a short time. My Mom helped a couple of times, but refused after my move to a third floor apartment. Every time I moved with Mom's assistance she would give my things away.
"Dick, did you see this pretty conch shell she has in the bathroom?"
"Oh, it's gooorgeous!"
"You like it? Here. Take it. It's yours!"
We laugh about that to this day. When I visit Mom now I see bits and pieces of each of my temporary homes. I was good with it since part of moving is getting to redecorate.
Dick was my older sisters father-in-law. He was a hoot. He died two weeks ago, but I'll always remember him helping me move.
(sigh)
Yer talking to moving queen here. Well, we moved a lot, and not just across town, when I was a child. And I've moved a lot for an oldie in recent years.
It's a good thing I enjoy new places. Mostly.
I did scream and hollar in the car when I left my house in Venice, but that was a situation that fit this quote -
ehBeth wrote:
I have this weird theory that once you get a place absolutely right, you'll end up moving.
Well, that, plus major emotional connection.
I've told the story on a2k before about when I was visiting in LA years later and went to my old post office to mail a book back to work in northern california. I was filling out the forms at a desk facing outward from the post office interior when someone screamed, "stop that lady"!!
Everybody was looking at me! The person saying stop her was my old postlady Eartha. Eartha!!!!!!!!!! Hugs time. Damn, I miss her still.
Of course, in today's atmosphere, she'd a never said that that way, or I'd have a guard in my face. As it was, the post office turned into a pretty jolly place.
Brilliant story - that kid's a keeper.
boomerang wrote:I think the reason that it is so hard to leave is because all my "nevers" evaporated here: never will I live in the suburbs, never will I love this house, never will I make friends here, never will I become middle aged, never will I raise a child, never will I have a parent die, never will I not work.....
Never, never, never.
All gone.
That's powerful stuff.
Well, I've documented here how much I absolutely despise moving, and moving from Chicago to Columbus was one of the rougher spots in my life and probably the roughest parenting spot. But I do think there are a lot of things that could make it much easier for you guys, primarily Mo's age and that it will not be an entirely new city. Even if old friendships fade, the possibility of seeing old friends
exists -- if he decides that he absolutely wants to see them right this minute, you jump in the car and go. I think that possibility alone is a comfort, as well as the larger city things that will still be there -- the zoo, the beach, the mountains, whatever.
And now that we're over the move itself and its unpleasant aftermath, we're SO happy with where we live, and it was definitely all worth it.
Watching this thread with interest.
Oh good! I hated the idea of you and Mo being separated from Mr. B, even by a few miles.
I think I've fallen into painting as a way to get a new house without moving. That might be my way of leaving things unfinished too.
This year we decided that the constant headache of dumping a yard of beach sand around our pool was a good idea. Sand is fun. Aspirn is cheap and, at low doses, it can be good for your heart. So okay.
Mo's friend Slim decided that one very effective way to try to keep sand out of the pool was to dump it in by the bucketful. He was several buckets into this idea before he was found out and stopped. Within a day the filter was clogged, the pump had stopped working and the water was in danger of getting foul.
Yesterday evening I was tired. It had been a hard day. I hadn't eaten right or had enough water and I was in the strange delerium that sets in under those circumstances. Smelling of sunshine, Mo invited me for a swim.
The cabinet doors needed to be rehung and the drawers needed a coat of paint. I hadn't even started dinner yet. I had phone calls to return.
Quickly calculating the number of birds and stones at my disposal I improvised a strainer to clean out the sand and jumped into the pool. Three birds, Mo visit and pool cleaning and a much needed break with one stone.
Mo chooses this moment to ask "Does God make wishes?"
I put down my cleaning tools, climb aboard the float and we have a lovely little conversation speculating on whether God makes wishes and if he does what he might wish for. We decide that if God wishes that he most likely wishes that everybody would find a way to be happy. For some reason this makes Mo cry.
So we float. And I just let him cry it out. And then the world gets quiet except for the sound of birds.
Today maybe the doors will get hung and the drawers will get painted and the pool will get cleaned and repaired and maybe we will have something for dinner better than the sandwiches we had last night.
This is one a them girl threads, ain't it?
Yes. Girls only. Except for the ultra-dreamy guys like dadpad and you.
Laugh to your heart's content, DP, you old sourpuss . . . i'll be over by the pool with the girls . . .
...and I'll be at the bar with the women.
Ahahahahah pffft.
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