Our belongings finally arrived via a hugely oversized Matson freight container and slightly frazzled semi-trick driver. After negotiating the narrow gulch bridges and cliffside curves, he had no problem crashing through the foliage up our driveway to dump everything in front of the house. Our lanai is clogged with boxes, and it is exciting cutting them open to discover what the movers did to our things. Unloading a box of my clothes, I picked up a gauzy white skirt and held it to my waist - it looked like I had laid a tea towel on my stomach. My running shoes are waiting for me in the closet. I will reclaim my former athletic whatsits as soon as my vacancy sign goes back on.
We stuffed the car with just-in-case hospital junk and went into town yesterday to meet Dr. Z (for real, that is his name - he is a rock star in a tiny preoccupied middle-aged Japanese body), then spent the day exhausting ourselves in the organizational departments of Home Depot and Walmart. Having all our crap means we need a bunch of additional crap to keep it tidy. Gavin and I hung on the overloaded cart as we waited in line. "Mom, you make my heart sing. It's singing, 'Moooom, I loooove you! Tummy tummy baaaaaby!' What do I make your heart sing?" I sang a bit of Wild Thing. He grinned and bounced a bit, "What does Dad make your heart do?" I snorted, but was spared from answering when he suddenly bounced up and landed on the mirror stuck under our cart, shattering it into pieces. We stared at it, particle board frame cracked in two and shards of mirror reflecting a hundred of our saucered eyes. A bored cashier dragged it off and dumped it at an empty register without making us pay for it. Sign of pride in quality merchandise. I was impressed it had actually been made of glass.
It was dark when we finally arrived home. Gavin was slumped sleeping against the foam cooler in the back seat, so for a moment we let him sit and got out to stare up at the clear night sky. Even at the lake there were never this many stars. "There's the milky way," I said, pointing. Mike made a wry noise and touched my arm. We stood for a moment, leaned against each other, nodded, and popped the trunk to unload. Today I am up and eating cereal in a real bowl, sitting at my own table, and feeling ready to slice open some boxes and get my nest on. I have a new toy; a gleaming blue label maker. Nothing will escape my librarianly wrath.
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