moving across the plains

The new digs are just fine; full of boxes and miscellany but great nonetheless. The Eleven was pondering the amount of stuff we’ve moved and I’m shocked that it all fit in the old small two bedroom place. As X pointed out, it was packed like a ship at sea with everything strapped to the walls and locked into place in case we encountered heavy chop; we used to strap the boys in at the table. I think, using her term to describe my shock, the apartment was like a tube of toothpaste: we got everything out but there’s no way we could ever get all of it back inside. Ever. Speaking of the olden two-bedroom place: three years and four people mean a whole lot of scrubbing and elbow grease to get in order to finish out the deposit dance. X spent two-and-a-half hours last night just removing all the shelves, bolts, hooks, curtain rods, and trapezes she’d installed over the years. But, we’ve woken up the last two mornings looking lovingly at the jungle that canopies over the new back garden.

I had an entry about two years ago that flippantly threw out the name of a girl I’d attended elementary school with for three or four years in Omaha. Her name back then was pretty distinctive so it wouldn’t be much of surprise if she googled herself while sitting around the house one evening. I didn’t even think of that when I was typing away; seems so obvious now, don’t ever say I’m not on top of things. Anway, she found the entry and sent me a very funny e-mail proclaiming her fifth-grade love for another boy; we all knew about that back in ’75 but it was curious just how quickly it came up – we remember so much about when we were that age and trundling through our little kid lives. I reminds me of just how strong emotions are when you’re young and how much of an imprint childhood events hold even decades later. I try to remember this when I’m fighting laughter as one of the girls tells me about the distress of the days, not real distress, but elementary school distress. In fact, G. has a ‘girlfriend’ in his fourth-grade class who’s completely entranced by everything he does and is certain she’ll someday marry him. He pretends to hold her in disgust but he’s really in love with her: I’m certain that come 2041 he’ll remember everything about her.

I don’t know if I mentioned that the driveway at the new place is set at about a 45-degree climb, seriously. Once you hit the “up” bit you’ll be staring at sky and clouds, trusting the engine and grip, and hoping you’ve lined up The Ring (the new golden car) before you kicked down hard and activate the thrusters. Trust that you’ll eventually come level and feel the G-suit release as you land your craft on the terra firma of the flatlands.

I’ve sort our new mass transit options for Falls Church. I know, I know…

t.