Yesterday I came across KidTwo's copy of "Man Without a Country," by Kurt Vonnegut, and was reminded again how lucky we were to have had Kurt Vonnegut with us for so long. That was a real treat among the stress and hassle of the move.
The move progresses, in fits and starts. Saturday I went back to the new apartment, where KidOne was waiting for a visit and to give me a hand. We went to lunch at one of our favorite restaurants, 'Wok of Flame,' then went back and loaded up the car with almost all the things that were left in the apartment.
***Anyone driving up I-80 and passing the Mace Blvd exit in Davis would not go amiss to pull off the freeway and go to Wok of Flame, right there in the small shopping center just off the freeway to the south. Wonderful food, wonderful service, wonderful experience.
KidOne took a futon that we no longer needed, along with a fan that wouldn't fit in my car (we were able to get one fan in, but not the second). I gave the manager, aka our next-door neighbor, the keys, along with some kitchen equipment I had brought up to donate at the thrift shop.
A slight digression here about that thrift shop donation: Just about all my siblings and me have issues with some degree of OCD, this from the grand obsessive himself, our father. How bad is the old man, you ask? Oh my, how to explain about him? You know those stories about the elderly men trapped behind piles of newspaper, or women who have cat carcasses in their freezer? That's Dad, only with kitchen equipment. Dad LOVES kitchen equipment. He loves to buy it for others just as much, if not more, than he loves to buy it for himself. He will buy it for me, and for my siblings, then he will buy it for KidOne, who has her own apartment, and for KidTwo, who had her own apartment before, and for KidThree, who hopes to have her own apartment someday. And then there are BrotherK's two children, also grown, SisterL's three children, two grown and one getting there fast, and SisterC's children, who will be grown someday. Children and grandchildren are not the only recipients of his largesse: there are the CousinsM and CousinsS, whose mothers were sisters to mine and for all of whom my mother has performed all maternal duties since the untimely early passings of those sisters. Both the CousinsM and four of the five CousinsS have reproduced, giving Dad even more kitchens to be interested in filling.
My particular little family also loves kitchen equipment, but we have a storage problem. We live in small apartments, not a house big enough for a family of eight but now inhabited only by two, plus their ever-growing collection of kitchen equipment. We just don't have the storage space and so can't keep everything we are given. Hence, the donations. Why the travel, then, to donate? Because if I give the things to a store within Dad's ordinary travel range, he will buy the things again. He will remember that he gave some to me and will be so happy to find another set to give to one of my girlies. The only solution is to donate the things we cannot keep to a thrift store he cannot reach.
The things we have to do.
The past four days have been a blur of driving things from the old apartment to the new, from my parents' home to the new apartment, from the new apartment to the storage space I rented, from the old apartment to the storage space I rented, from the new apartment to the old thrift shop, etc. Back and forth and back and forth and around and around I went, accompanied by boxes and bags stuffed full.
And now to San Francisco, where I have my four charges all to myself for this four-day spell, as their paternal unit is on a business trip. Then back to the new apartment to try to get things organized. Right now, it's as messy as can be and still be inhabitable. Almost everything is de-boxed, but not everything is put away, meaning the floors are as covered as can be with the detritus of modern living. I was just barely able to clear a path to the kitchen for KidThree before I had to leave. It was so messy that I will probably head out there tomorrow with BoyThree and GirlFour in tow (after dropping off the older two at their respective schools) to try to get some more work done.
As things go, I'm loving many things about the new place. The toilet is so old, it's real porcelain, not plastic. That is wonderful--plastic toilet seats make me feel like I'm sitting on Barbie furniture. The faucet over the bathroom sink has cute little white handles that say "hot" and "cold," in case someone needs to wash their hands before their morning coffee. The kitchen has so much cabinet space in comparison to our old one that I'm not sure I'll actually fill up every cupboard (but don't let Dad know that). There is a linen closet, which I haven't had in ten years, and a coat closet, which I've been without for twenty years. The stove is gas, which I haven't cooked with in twenty years, and which I love so very much. My books are all on shelves, not in order yet but at least out of boxes, and we all have clean underwear. I think there is only one flea or two, which I'll bomb as soon as the carpet is visible again, and some of the neighbors across the way are involved in a three-way relationship which entails much yelling with no weapons so far, but in our little apartment, things are okay.
That's it for now. Time to get my charges dressed and ready for their day.