Moving sucks. You go through everything you own, and wonder why you own so much shit. You throw stuff away. You pack the items you know you want to keep. You make huge piles of items to sell or donate. Then you pack up everything else, knowing that you probably don't need it all, but loathe to toss it before you have a chance to go through it all carefully.
And then you move. And the unpacking begins.
Me: So, we have like 8 quart size storage containers without lids.
Hubby: Should we get rid of them?
Me: I dunno. We might use them. Maybe?
Hubby: Maybe we should toss them.
Me: You may be right.
Hubby: Did you find the yellow cups yet?
Me: No. I hope they didn't get tossed. They were a matched set!
(These yellow cups are 32 oz. yellow plastic with the logo for a coin operated laundromat in Nacogdoches, TX. They are tacky as hell, but they are big and perfect for a big glass of water. Plus they are dishwasher safe. Oh well. Then there were fourteen boxes marked "Master Bath".)
Me: So, what is in this box?
Hubby: What does it say?
Me: Huh. There are four different labels. Mather bath. Kitchen. Hubby shoes. Misc.
Hubby: I am pretty sure that kitchen one is from when my grandmother moved.
Me: So, Master bath or shoes?
Hubby: I think my mom packed that box.
Me: ...Oh.
Hubby: What's in it?
Me: I haven't opened it yet. I lost my screwdriver.
Hubby: (whipping out his pocketknife) I'll get it.
Me: Nonono! My screwdriver is here somewhere!
Hubby: (opening box) Huh. I guess I didn't need to buy another package of razor blades.
Me: (looking in box) You bought more blades? So we have eight thousand blades for you.
Hubby: Where were these?
Me: It says master bath.
Hubby: Huh...
(And then there was the kitchen I spent hours organizing early one morning when I couldn't go back to sleep.)
Hubby: Where did the plates go?
Me: I moved them to the cabinet over there.
Hubby: But I thought you put them over the dishwasher.
Me: Well, I did, originally. But then I thought it made more sense over there.
Hubby: So where did the Boy's medicine wind up?
Me: Over the coffee maker.
Hubby: Okay. Hmmm.
Me: What?
Hubby: I cannot find the silverware now.
Me: (exploding) I just put everything where it was in the old kitchen! It makes perfect sense!
Hubby: (backing away) But the layout is different than in the old kitchen.
Me: Well, yeah. But the order is the same.
Hubby: Okay, look, I will try to figure this out. Now where did the cereal go?
Me: In the pantry.
Hubby: I don't see it.
Me: It is right in front of you! (looking) Huh. Wait, I know where it is... It was in that box marked Kitchen items.
I have made enough trips to Salvation Army that the old guy, who seems awfully reserved when he takes your bags and items, actually smiled at me the last trip. I think he is gonna smile again when he finds me buying back the yellow cups that we cannot find and are certain wound up inadvertently in the 'Donate' box.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Ode to a Wine Glass
I pride myself on not being attached to stuff. If there was a fire, I've always assumed that once my family and dog are out of the house, I would be torn between grabbing my jewelry box and tossing a few handfuls of fiction literature out the window. The other stuff? Not so much.
I mean, we are about to move, and I hate that there is so much stuff. I pack box after box of weighty tomes, clothes, dishes, theatre props, desk supplies, computer equipment... you name it. And I keep thinking, wow, I have hardly even touched the stuff I use on a daily basis. I am purging, trust me. I have filled the dumpster a dozen times so far, and have sold stuff, and plan to have a huge moving sale. I expect the movers (the same local company we used four years ago) to marvel at the empty(ish) house...
But, apparently, I am a liar.
I have this bad habit of not washing my wine glasses. I let the counter get crowded with three or four well rinsed but unwashed glasses. I don't want to have anything else in the drainboard when I wash them--I've broken a glass or two that way, and hate cleaning up the broken glass. So, I had five glasses waiting to be cleaned, and finally had an empty drainboard.
Two were white wine glasses with twisty stems that I purchased at a yard sale. The other three were part of a set of four purchased by Wine Friend, as a gift for my birthday. They are lovely Shiraz glasses by Riedel. Three years ago, I would have just loved that someone bought me elegant wine glasses (and from Williams Sonoma!), but being a little more educated now, I recognize the care with which these glasses were chosen. He's been bringing wine out for almost two years now, and knows not only on what I like, but what kinds of wine I tend to purchase for myself. He also knew that I'd been drinking wine out of glasses that don't do justice to them. (You don't have to be a wine snob to recognize that the shape of a glass can enhance or distract.) It probably wasn't a difficult purchase, but it showed that he knew what I liked and would appreciate, and chose to purchase it for me.
I love these glasses, I am sure you can tell. But I didn't know I loved them until I broke one last night while washing it. For a shocked moment, I looked at the soapy broken glass. And then I began to weep. Not just cry a little. Weep. The Husband helped me gather the broken pieces, and offered to finish up for me. I went upstairs, sat on the floor by my bed, and just wept.
It's just stuff, right? I still have three, right? It's just a fucking wine glass, right?
I pride myself on being practical. Why buy nice clothes if they are just going to be out of fashion in two years? (investment or quirky pieces, it all comes from Target or is on sale.) Why buy a new car if my Honda Civic is still working and likely to continue working as long as I maintain it (mileage over 165K!)? Why buy a new book if I can just check it out at the library or borrow it from a friend to see if I like the author enough to spend money on it? (Sookie Stackhouse novels, yes. "Shades of Grey", god no...)
But I like wine. I don't buy rotgut because I don't like it. Not being independently wealthy, I won't buy bottles of wine that are over $20 unless there is a sale, and when I find something I like and is reasonably priced, I may buy several bottles more. I am no oenophile, but I am semi-literate. Those glasses were a gift from someone vastly more educated in wine than I am, selected to help me enjoy what I do drink at home.
Wine Friend visited Saturday night, and the three of us were sitting around discussing life, the universe, and everything. And I said that this world is pretty terrible, and that even though I recognized the misery in the world, I felt like I was just a spoiled housewife who contributed nothing to make it better. And Wine Friend shot me down, saying that Husband and the Boy would argue, and that I bring joy to those around me, and to the arts community, and to him.
Sober, I can agree with that assessment. I do bring joy to many people around me. I cannot save the world perhaps, but I do what I can to bring light to the world around me. I spend countless hours helping to organize a tour of artists studios, which helps the local economy, brings artists and the community together, and educates the public about the arts in general. The visual arts produce material objects that please people, and serve a purpose. Every morning I drink my coffee from mugs produced by local potters. My walls are covered in visual art that pleases me.
Appreciating a few material objects is not embracing materialism--there is a middle ground that I have never really recognized. Yes, I absolutely object to the endless consumerism of modern life-- and am frustrated with the amount of stuff that we all seem driven to acquire. I still have no desire to continue to upgrade just because I can.
But I do have a few items in my possession that genuinely make me happy. My hardcover edition of "The Sun Also Rises" was bound with the cover on upside down. When I was fifteen, I took it to Mexico and read while imagining myself as a glamorous ex-pat in another country. My engagement ring is lovely and was designed especially for me by the Husband, who was instructed to get a ring that I couldn't hurt myself with. He did that AND recycled diamonds-- very cool ring, and cool of him to do it. I like the story almost as much as the ring. So surely I can recognize that joy can come from an object that holds special meaning to me.
Even a wine glass given to me by a good friend.
I mean, we are about to move, and I hate that there is so much stuff. I pack box after box of weighty tomes, clothes, dishes, theatre props, desk supplies, computer equipment... you name it. And I keep thinking, wow, I have hardly even touched the stuff I use on a daily basis. I am purging, trust me. I have filled the dumpster a dozen times so far, and have sold stuff, and plan to have a huge moving sale. I expect the movers (the same local company we used four years ago) to marvel at the empty(ish) house...
But, apparently, I am a liar.
I have this bad habit of not washing my wine glasses. I let the counter get crowded with three or four well rinsed but unwashed glasses. I don't want to have anything else in the drainboard when I wash them--I've broken a glass or two that way, and hate cleaning up the broken glass. So, I had five glasses waiting to be cleaned, and finally had an empty drainboard.
Two were white wine glasses with twisty stems that I purchased at a yard sale. The other three were part of a set of four purchased by Wine Friend, as a gift for my birthday. They are lovely Shiraz glasses by Riedel. Three years ago, I would have just loved that someone bought me elegant wine glasses (and from Williams Sonoma!), but being a little more educated now, I recognize the care with which these glasses were chosen. He's been bringing wine out for almost two years now, and knows not only on what I like, but what kinds of wine I tend to purchase for myself. He also knew that I'd been drinking wine out of glasses that don't do justice to them. (You don't have to be a wine snob to recognize that the shape of a glass can enhance or distract.) It probably wasn't a difficult purchase, but it showed that he knew what I liked and would appreciate, and chose to purchase it for me.
I love these glasses, I am sure you can tell. But I didn't know I loved them until I broke one last night while washing it. For a shocked moment, I looked at the soapy broken glass. And then I began to weep. Not just cry a little. Weep. The Husband helped me gather the broken pieces, and offered to finish up for me. I went upstairs, sat on the floor by my bed, and just wept.
It's just stuff, right? I still have three, right? It's just a fucking wine glass, right?
I pride myself on being practical. Why buy nice clothes if they are just going to be out of fashion in two years? (investment or quirky pieces, it all comes from Target or is on sale.) Why buy a new car if my Honda Civic is still working and likely to continue working as long as I maintain it (mileage over 165K!)? Why buy a new book if I can just check it out at the library or borrow it from a friend to see if I like the author enough to spend money on it? (Sookie Stackhouse novels, yes. "Shades of Grey", god no...)
But I like wine. I don't buy rotgut because I don't like it. Not being independently wealthy, I won't buy bottles of wine that are over $20 unless there is a sale, and when I find something I like and is reasonably priced, I may buy several bottles more. I am no oenophile, but I am semi-literate. Those glasses were a gift from someone vastly more educated in wine than I am, selected to help me enjoy what I do drink at home.
Wine Friend visited Saturday night, and the three of us were sitting around discussing life, the universe, and everything. And I said that this world is pretty terrible, and that even though I recognized the misery in the world, I felt like I was just a spoiled housewife who contributed nothing to make it better. And Wine Friend shot me down, saying that Husband and the Boy would argue, and that I bring joy to those around me, and to the arts community, and to him.
Sober, I can agree with that assessment. I do bring joy to many people around me. I cannot save the world perhaps, but I do what I can to bring light to the world around me. I spend countless hours helping to organize a tour of artists studios, which helps the local economy, brings artists and the community together, and educates the public about the arts in general. The visual arts produce material objects that please people, and serve a purpose. Every morning I drink my coffee from mugs produced by local potters. My walls are covered in visual art that pleases me.
Appreciating a few material objects is not embracing materialism--there is a middle ground that I have never really recognized. Yes, I absolutely object to the endless consumerism of modern life-- and am frustrated with the amount of stuff that we all seem driven to acquire. I still have no desire to continue to upgrade just because I can.
But I do have a few items in my possession that genuinely make me happy. My hardcover edition of "The Sun Also Rises" was bound with the cover on upside down. When I was fifteen, I took it to Mexico and read while imagining myself as a glamorous ex-pat in another country. My engagement ring is lovely and was designed especially for me by the Husband, who was instructed to get a ring that I couldn't hurt myself with. He did that AND recycled diamonds-- very cool ring, and cool of him to do it. I like the story almost as much as the ring. So surely I can recognize that joy can come from an object that holds special meaning to me.
Even a wine glass given to me by a good friend.
Monday, May 7, 2012
For Want of a Snail...
I want to tell you a funny story.
(I know, beware when someone begins a story by declaring it a 'funny story.' But this one is more funny as in "wow, that is kinda whacky", although it certainly has some "wow, that is hilarious!" parts.)
Two Christmases ago, the Husband's sister sent us a thoughtful gift of a hummingbird water fountain. It was a graceful bit of copper sculpture that requires only a body of water and electricity. The hummingbird gracefully hovers over the open petals of a tulip, from which flows a charming cascade of water, hitting one of three leaves....Can you tell I thought it was a bizarre gift?
It sat in a box for a few months, until the Husband decided that we ought to get something to put the fountain in, so we could enjoy it. Running water makes me have to pee (as does laughing, yelling, coughing, having sex, and peeing), but I thought, why not? Running water is also supposed to be soothing, right?
He came back from the hardware supercenter with... a red flowerpot.
I liked the flowerpot. It was red. I like red. But it was not exactly appropriate for the 18 inch tall Hummingbird Water Fountain... Notice that the sculpture now has capital letters. That is when it began to assume a life of its own.
It distressed me, but we returned the beautiful flowerpot. I would rather have kept the flowerpot and returned the Hummingbird Water Fountain, but alas, it was a gift, and we didn't know where to go to return it, whereas we knew where we bought the flowerpot. Byebye, little flowerpot.
Hello 35 gallon pond.
We put the Hummingbird Water Fountain in the pond. We had to experiment with bricks and cement blocks to get the height right, but soon, we had a lovely pond on our back deck, with a copper fountain splashing prettily.
It looked empty. The Husband noticed, and soon, the pond had plants. Three water plants: a lily, floating water hyacinth, and a water lily. And then, we added pretty gravel and pebbles to the bottom of the pond, and then some big rocks for variety. And, the coup de grace... the rock with the Chinese symbol of balance. Here is what we had, by the beginning of June. Pretty, no? We had a lovely place to display the Hummingbird Water Fountain, and make the birds happy.
One day, that summer, I was having my zen moment, kneeling before the Hummingbird Water Fountain, enjoying the tinkle of water before the run for the bathroom... when I saw something...something in the water... something moving. A bug? The Hummingbird Water Fountain kept the surface too busy for mosquitoes... or did it?
Tadpoles! We had done a good job, and created a viable ecosystem for wildlife! Amazing! Frogs had come into our backyard, and hopped up onto our desk, and laid eggs! Except...they weren't tadpoles. Unbeknownst to us... one of our three water plants had carried a bonus. A cluster of fish eggs.
Koi! We soon had tiny fish all over the place! Cool! This led to frantic research, visits to the pet superstore, the purchase of additional water plants for the fish to eat, koi food, and endless speculation on what variety of koi we had.
Look carefully at the picture. You see that the pond is on a deck. A deck. As September turned cooler, we began to recognize the implications of a 35 gallon pond with fish and water plants on a deck.
We set up the fish tank that the Husband had used back in his youth, which had until this point in our marriage held only a tennis racquet and collected dust. This necessitated the purchase of a new filtration system, of course. And modern chemicals, new water plants, and indoor gravel.
We successfully transitioned the 16 fish inside and figured out how to store the plants for the winter (5 gallon buckets of water in the garage). At this point, we discovered that we didn't have true koi, but shubunkins, a different variety of goldfish, but lovely and thankfully not as large as koi.
Fast forward a little. Spring arrived, we scrubbed the gravel from last year, and set up the pond again. It was lovely, and the fish were so happy to be back, and they grew. How they grew. They also had fishy sex, apparently, because part-way through the summer, I noticed there were some tiny little fish as well.
Shit. We bought more food, and new plants, and continue scrubbing away, and taking care of the damn pond... the damn pond that we only had because of the Hummingbird Water Fountain, which was no longer as happy as it once was, what with all the fish shit and algae filtering through the water. Plus, the Hummingbird Water Fountain lost one of the three leaves, and was not shiny and pretty anymore. Oh, and it made noise.
Summer ended, and we captured the fish again, and set up the plants, and all was well. Except we now had well over twenty shebunkins, and the biggest guy was attacking the other fish, and we had to fucking clean the tank every three weeks to avoid the stinky aquarium smell. The algae was awe-inspiring, and we briefly debated adding an algae eating fish. Error check, and I instead sent out a plea over the Borg to see if anyone wanted some fish.
One of my girlfriends has a proper outdoor pond, and was happy to take some lovely shubunkins. I let her pick out the prettiest ones, and encouraged her to get the big ones. We were left with a more manageable 15 (or so, have you EVER tried to fucking COUNT fish? Really?) and the fish society seemed happier.
Two weeks ago, I was drinking with Wine Friend and the Husband. I was tipsy, admittedly, so the guys can be excused for laughing at me when I suddenly exclaimed, "Is that a fucking snail?"
Funny jokes ensued. But, the truth of the matter cannot be denied. We have a snail somehow.
I threw away the Hummingbird Water Fountain.
(I know, beware when someone begins a story by declaring it a 'funny story.' But this one is more funny as in "wow, that is kinda whacky", although it certainly has some "wow, that is hilarious!" parts.)
Two Christmases ago, the Husband's sister sent us a thoughtful gift of a hummingbird water fountain. It was a graceful bit of copper sculpture that requires only a body of water and electricity. The hummingbird gracefully hovers over the open petals of a tulip, from which flows a charming cascade of water, hitting one of three leaves....Can you tell I thought it was a bizarre gift?
It sat in a box for a few months, until the Husband decided that we ought to get something to put the fountain in, so we could enjoy it. Running water makes me have to pee (as does laughing, yelling, coughing, having sex, and peeing), but I thought, why not? Running water is also supposed to be soothing, right?
He came back from the hardware supercenter with... a red flowerpot.
I liked the flowerpot. It was red. I like red. But it was not exactly appropriate for the 18 inch tall Hummingbird Water Fountain... Notice that the sculpture now has capital letters. That is when it began to assume a life of its own.
It distressed me, but we returned the beautiful flowerpot. I would rather have kept the flowerpot and returned the Hummingbird Water Fountain, but alas, it was a gift, and we didn't know where to go to return it, whereas we knew where we bought the flowerpot. Byebye, little flowerpot.
Hello 35 gallon pond.
We put the Hummingbird Water Fountain in the pond. We had to experiment with bricks and cement blocks to get the height right, but soon, we had a lovely pond on our back deck, with a copper fountain splashing prettily.
One day, that summer, I was having my zen moment, kneeling before the Hummingbird Water Fountain, enjoying the tinkle of water before the run for the bathroom... when I saw something...something in the water... something moving. A bug? The Hummingbird Water Fountain kept the surface too busy for mosquitoes... or did it?
Tadpoles! We had done a good job, and created a viable ecosystem for wildlife! Amazing! Frogs had come into our backyard, and hopped up onto our desk, and laid eggs! Except...they weren't tadpoles. Unbeknownst to us... one of our three water plants had carried a bonus. A cluster of fish eggs.
Koi! We soon had tiny fish all over the place! Cool! This led to frantic research, visits to the pet superstore, the purchase of additional water plants for the fish to eat, koi food, and endless speculation on what variety of koi we had.
Look carefully at the picture. You see that the pond is on a deck. A deck. As September turned cooler, we began to recognize the implications of a 35 gallon pond with fish and water plants on a deck.
We set up the fish tank that the Husband had used back in his youth, which had until this point in our marriage held only a tennis racquet and collected dust. This necessitated the purchase of a new filtration system, of course. And modern chemicals, new water plants, and indoor gravel.
We successfully transitioned the 16 fish inside and figured out how to store the plants for the winter (5 gallon buckets of water in the garage). At this point, we discovered that we didn't have true koi, but shubunkins, a different variety of goldfish, but lovely and thankfully not as large as koi.
Fast forward a little. Spring arrived, we scrubbed the gravel from last year, and set up the pond again. It was lovely, and the fish were so happy to be back, and they grew. How they grew. They also had fishy sex, apparently, because part-way through the summer, I noticed there were some tiny little fish as well.
Shit. We bought more food, and new plants, and continue scrubbing away, and taking care of the damn pond... the damn pond that we only had because of the Hummingbird Water Fountain, which was no longer as happy as it once was, what with all the fish shit and algae filtering through the water. Plus, the Hummingbird Water Fountain lost one of the three leaves, and was not shiny and pretty anymore. Oh, and it made noise.
Summer ended, and we captured the fish again, and set up the plants, and all was well. Except we now had well over twenty shebunkins, and the biggest guy was attacking the other fish, and we had to fucking clean the tank every three weeks to avoid the stinky aquarium smell. The algae was awe-inspiring, and we briefly debated adding an algae eating fish. Error check, and I instead sent out a plea over the Borg to see if anyone wanted some fish.
One of my girlfriends has a proper outdoor pond, and was happy to take some lovely shubunkins. I let her pick out the prettiest ones, and encouraged her to get the big ones. We were left with a more manageable 15 (or so, have you EVER tried to fucking COUNT fish? Really?) and the fish society seemed happier.
Two weeks ago, I was drinking with Wine Friend and the Husband. I was tipsy, admittedly, so the guys can be excused for laughing at me when I suddenly exclaimed, "Is that a fucking snail?"
Funny jokes ensued. But, the truth of the matter cannot be denied. We have a snail somehow.
I threw away the Hummingbird Water Fountain.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)