Saturday, August 28, 2010
Lazy and Delightful
10:46 am: a mug of Irish breakfast; a plate of eggs with havarti, glazed ham, and applesauce; Josh on the couch reading blogs; Ivan perched on the loveseat behind my head; no fan going because the marine layer is thick and the air is cool; all the windows are open; a neighbor plays Mozart exquisitely on the piano; I choose not to read my book.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Take 2
In case you were unaware, we've moved. Goodbye little green-door apartment, goodbye tiny kitchen, goodbye awkward heater placement on our living room wall, goodbye overbearing management company, goodbye no parking and dark alleyways at night. Hello spacious green-door condo, vaulted ceilings, wood floors, kitchen that needs some love (read: foreign substances caking the drawers and cabinets that smells like bad soy sauce, plus meal bugs devouring ancient crackers in the bottom drawer), dishwasher(!), broken air conditioner, and tall, lovely redwood tree that shades our patio and makes us feel like we live in a treehouse. Also an unfortunate hello to chaos. We moved in June, but from the looks of things around here, you'd probably guess we'd only moved two weeks ago.
Josh and I came to the realization this time around that we are really not very good at moving. We are both procrastinators of one sort or another, but the key difference is that I am of the "I shall take my time and carefully place each item in its group's box, and I shall label the box with its contents, and then I shall indicate the future destination of said box in our new abode, thereby taking 1-2 hours per box, but avoiding chaos" type of procrastinating mover. Josh is more of the "here's an empty box; I'm going to put all of this stuff in it and worry about it later because it all needs to move anyway; did I mention that I packed this entire room in two hours?" kind of procrastinating mover. Because we procrastinate, I get three or four boxes done, and then Josh's method wins out. Thus, in the current state of our new home, I have frequently found myself wandering around teary-eyed with frustration while Josh is out somewhere, muttering under my breath about where the MEASURING CUPS are because I really need to make LITTLE CHOCOLATE CAKES. No, the little chocolate cakes were nowhere near a necessity, and the world would not have ended if I had not found the measuring cups, and yes, this is a lot funnier to me now as I write it, but in the moment these small instances seem gargantuan. I really do have a hard time dealing with disorganization, especially in our home. How can I do the stuff I wanna if I can't FIND it? It! You know, that thing that you saw that one time when we were looking for that other thing that we couldn't find. YES I WILL CRY OVER NOT BEING ABLE TO FIND THE SPATULA.
Things are improving only slowly, due in part to the new position I have at work that demands more of my time in the office, to Josh's work (introvert in an extrovert's job=tired husband), and to my chronic pain and weakness (doctors are doing labwork on my blood, btw, to see if I might have RA); I can only do so much before I need to sit down and not move for a while. It's frustrating (the clutter and chaos), but I'm learning to deal with it better. One bright and shiny light in the darkness is the unexpected joy of being forced to read books I may not have otherwise chosen had I access to our entire wealth of literature. Only the boxes that had spilled over onto the floor were accessible, so I read A Ring of Endless Light just because it was there, and it was a dear and deep delight. It was insightful, moving--made me cry--and gave me a lot to think about in regard to my grandmother, who has severe Alzheimer's. L'Engle was also much kinder as an author than I anticipated she would be, and I think many greener authors (including myself) would have handled the story differently, making it more contrived, and thereby ruining a great deal of the poignancy and sweetness that L'Engle instead produces. I've also finished books I'd only read one or two short stories from, and read others that I'd always meant to read, but kept setting aside for another day. The whole experience is like discovering friends living in my house to whom I had previously been blind. Oh, hi L'Engle. Thanks for being here and changing my life. Pull up a shelf and stay forever. Hey there Byatt. You can be my edgy-mystical-modern friend, just don't send any djinn my way. We can totally have drinks, though, and talk about narratology.
That and camping is pretty much my summer in my nutshell, but add two words: kitty parkour. Yes, Ivan likes our new place too. School starts up again soon, and all my classes are online this year, which promises to be an interesting adventure in new teaching methods for me. I keep needing to remind myself that just because they're online students it doesn't mean that they're not real. Sigh. The internet is weird.
A.
Edit: I posted this, and then thought, "I should include a picture." A few minutes of searching my computer produced the information that I have not uploaded any new pictures since November. I have a bajillion photos on my camera of cool things we did or made in the last year, but they are required to live there for now since--you guessed it--I have no idea where my camera cord is. Don't worry. No tears this time. Instead, here's a Facebook photo I stole from my mom of us camping.
Also, why is it so hot at 1:30 in the morning? It's at least eighty degrees in here! G'night.
Josh and I came to the realization this time around that we are really not very good at moving. We are both procrastinators of one sort or another, but the key difference is that I am of the "I shall take my time and carefully place each item in its group's box, and I shall label the box with its contents, and then I shall indicate the future destination of said box in our new abode, thereby taking 1-2 hours per box, but avoiding chaos" type of procrastinating mover. Josh is more of the "here's an empty box; I'm going to put all of this stuff in it and worry about it later because it all needs to move anyway; did I mention that I packed this entire room in two hours?" kind of procrastinating mover. Because we procrastinate, I get three or four boxes done, and then Josh's method wins out. Thus, in the current state of our new home, I have frequently found myself wandering around teary-eyed with frustration while Josh is out somewhere, muttering under my breath about where the MEASURING CUPS are because I really need to make LITTLE CHOCOLATE CAKES. No, the little chocolate cakes were nowhere near a necessity, and the world would not have ended if I had not found the measuring cups, and yes, this is a lot funnier to me now as I write it, but in the moment these small instances seem gargantuan. I really do have a hard time dealing with disorganization, especially in our home. How can I do the stuff I wanna if I can't FIND it? It! You know, that thing that you saw that one time when we were looking for that other thing that we couldn't find. YES I WILL CRY OVER NOT BEING ABLE TO FIND THE SPATULA.
Things are improving only slowly, due in part to the new position I have at work that demands more of my time in the office, to Josh's work (introvert in an extrovert's job=tired husband), and to my chronic pain and weakness (doctors are doing labwork on my blood, btw, to see if I might have RA); I can only do so much before I need to sit down and not move for a while. It's frustrating (the clutter and chaos), but I'm learning to deal with it better. One bright and shiny light in the darkness is the unexpected joy of being forced to read books I may not have otherwise chosen had I access to our entire wealth of literature. Only the boxes that had spilled over onto the floor were accessible, so I read A Ring of Endless Light just because it was there, and it was a dear and deep delight. It was insightful, moving--made me cry--and gave me a lot to think about in regard to my grandmother, who has severe Alzheimer's. L'Engle was also much kinder as an author than I anticipated she would be, and I think many greener authors (including myself) would have handled the story differently, making it more contrived, and thereby ruining a great deal of the poignancy and sweetness that L'Engle instead produces. I've also finished books I'd only read one or two short stories from, and read others that I'd always meant to read, but kept setting aside for another day. The whole experience is like discovering friends living in my house to whom I had previously been blind. Oh, hi L'Engle. Thanks for being here and changing my life. Pull up a shelf and stay forever. Hey there Byatt. You can be my edgy-mystical-modern friend, just don't send any djinn my way. We can totally have drinks, though, and talk about narratology.
That and camping is pretty much my summer in my nutshell, but add two words: kitty parkour. Yes, Ivan likes our new place too. School starts up again soon, and all my classes are online this year, which promises to be an interesting adventure in new teaching methods for me. I keep needing to remind myself that just because they're online students it doesn't mean that they're not real. Sigh. The internet is weird.
A.
Edit: I posted this, and then thought, "I should include a picture." A few minutes of searching my computer produced the information that I have not uploaded any new pictures since November. I have a bajillion photos on my camera of cool things we did or made in the last year, but they are required to live there for now since--you guessed it--I have no idea where my camera cord is. Don't worry. No tears this time. Instead, here's a Facebook photo I stole from my mom of us camping.
Also, why is it so hot at 1:30 in the morning? It's at least eighty degrees in here! G'night.
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