Frequent Citations

Work Must Stop

We're in this weird state of limbo. The movers have come and gone leaving nothing but our luggage and a few pieces of furniture we haven't yet pawned off on anyone. We can't even leave for the new place until Friday. But it's amazing how much work we have to do in the meantime.

We got most of the rest of GirlChild's stuff over to her place today. And failed to get a futon. And did a Target run.

With nothing in it, I am baffled at how the place can get to be such a mess. We're actually showing it tomorrow too, so we're bustling around cleaning and tidying.

Ok, that's a lie. I'm not bustling at all. I'm moving in slow motion, wondering when I'm going to keel over and slip into a coma. But every time I lie down, I'm wide awake thinking of all the things that Must Be Done.

I so look forward to arriving at our new place.

Jiggity Jig

GirlChild is home again, home again. Her bag even arrived too--about 6 hours later.

The movers arrived yesterday and took everything away, so we're rattling around in a flat empty of all but a few pieces not making the move and an enormous pile of donations to Goodwill. Cooking involves a certain amount of improvisation, but I made a passable soup to feed the prodigal daughter.

Mostly today was about catching our breath and figuring out the coming week as we hover between one home and the other, neither here nor there but still needing shelter for ourselves and Dogness. I think we finally have it mostly sorted out and have our reservations made. Things keep changing, though, so it'll be interesting to see how the week goes.

Tomorrow will be a busy day of getting GirlChild and the last of her stuff settled in her new home. Then, naturally, we will need to take her out to celebrate the Big Birthday. Nevertheless, at some point I will make time to sit down and read through the issue of Paris Vogue she brought back for me.

Ah, Paris. Oh, moving. By the way, if anybody's seen my glasses, which I had last night, please tell me where they are. Thanks.

Chinatown

It's been a hectic few days. Wednesday was devoted to moving GirlChild's stuff to her new apartment. Boy and I spent all day on that, and she still has things left here in the flat. Then I spent most of the night packing and organizing things to store with my parents until we get ourselves situated and find a storage solution on our new coast. Thursday Boy and I packed the rented SUV as full as we could, drove to my parents, and stashed a few tidy piles of boxes in their basement. We then collapsed until Friday morning, when I delivered him to his dorm, ran around getting some of the things he needed and helping him set up his room, and then finally drove home (traffic was very light, Mother).

So by last night I wasn't up for doing much more than sprawling on the couch and watching a movie. I popped in Chinatown, freshly delivered by Netflix, and settled in to be awed. I was, in a word, disappointed.

It's important to remember, when reading my opinions about movies or books, that I am shallow. Also, the only tragedies I'm willing to subject myself to are Greek drama, Shakespeare, and sometimes the news. Otherwise, I prefer to avoid pointless violence, stunted character development, and wallowing in misery.

I will say that the movie was beautifully filmed, and it was interesting to see such a young Nicholson. But the ending felt both contrived and awful. And it was too obvious: look at the horrible man and his horrible deeds and know that he will be repeating those horrible deeds, unmoved by the devastation he wreaks. Bah. The movie does have some excellent dialogue in it though.

Ah well. We're not moving our dinosaur of a television, so if anyone has recommendations regarding a not-huge flat-screen we can buy after we move, that would be fab.

Futon Recommendations?

I need to get a futon for GirlChild. Recommendations?

Boy Chef

Boy's home for a few days, which is great. We've barely seen him this past year. I am, of course, taking advantage of the slave labor. Today, though, he's not doing anything move-related. He's cooking.

The molten chocolate cakes are in the fridge waiting to be popped into the oven at the right time, and now he's getting ready to put together chicken marsala. Yum.

No matter how hard I tried, I could never get him interested in cooking when he lived at home. Now, he loves it. And now he's losing ready access to a fully-stocked kitchen. I can't believe how much stuff I have to get rid of to fit in the new kitchen--plus we can't move food. You better believe I'm going to take my $20/bottle vanilla in the car with us!

So we're still alive, and we're still making (some) progress, and we are exhausted. Except for Boy. It's good to sleep late, I guess.

Two Home Household

TFL flew out to talk to a few people about jobs and hunt down a place for us to live. He had two days and a mission, and he by golly accomplished that mission.

So we now have a place to live! In, unfortunately, two cities, because the flat STILL has not sold. Not even after we knocked the price down a LOT. I am not amused.

But anyway. It's a HUGE relief to know that we have a place to live now, somewhere to tell the moving company to take our stuff, an address for all my work forms. TFL did an excellent job: for within our budget we get a whole bedroom, which is even pretty sizable, a large living room, an actual kitchen, and lots of amenities. So yay! And I except to see a lot of you as visitors. As a bonus, and unlike the other places he looked at, the word "creepy" did not once cross his lips as he described the place he picked.

The Park is 3 blocks away, work is 6 blocks.

See, I knew what I was doing when I sent TFL on this mission.

Victory Wreaths All Around

I've been watching the Olympics here and there with the rest of the world. Mostly I've been watching swimming, which has always been one of my favorite sports to watch. At these Olympics, that means mostly watching that American freak of nature break one record after another and making it look easy (except for that astonishing 4x100 relay).

What gives away his status as an athlete with no equals is not the comparisons to other athletes with slews of gold medals, or to other swimmers with phenomenal speed. No human seems up to the task of putting his dominance in context. So the NYT went with Secretariat for a comparison. The horse won the Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths. And won the Triple Crown. If you're compared to Secretariat, well, I don't think you can ask for better.

Going Cheap: One Flat

No, we still haven't sold the flat. We've sold a lot of the stuff inside the flat, so it's starting to look frighteningly empty. This place is huge.

I've been selling off law books on Amazon, and trying not to spend the money as fast as I make it. We sold the car this weekend too (and we found the title for it), so that's one less headache. Tomorrow the piano goes. Next week we move GirlChild's stuff to her new place. The next week--we go. Egad.

It's hard to believe I'll be working within a month. In the meantime, as there's not a lot of packing to do right now, I'm going to go watch some awesome tv and eat chocolate zucchini bread. (Use the best vanilla extract you can get and be generous with the cinnamon, and don't cook it for more than an hour.)

I Hate Cars

We're getting rid of the car, and when you post it for sale at an insanely low price it's astonishing how quickly it can go.

If, that is, you can find the title. It has to be here. Somewhere. Grrrrr.

Keep Young And Beautiful

My grandmother had gorgeous skin into her 80s. My mother, too, is beautiful. When my grandmother died she made me swear to her that I would keep my mother in face cream if she couldn't afford it.

If you want to know their beauty secrets, they're pretty much these. It's simpler than you'd think, and involves no plastic surgery. In fact, it's pretty cheap.

Yes, I made GirlChild walk with books on her head. But I want silk pillowcases for Christmas.