Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
I woke up in a new apartment on New Year’s Eve morning, the bedroom still full of boxes, the to-do list ever growing. But the anxiety had mostly eased. For a few glorious moments, I just lay there, the dog snuggled up beside me, and felt at home. I played a round of Words with Friends with my dear friend Michael, with whom I am always in a neck-and-neck battle to the finish. We take turns besting one another and both enjoy the competition. I took the lead decisively with the word “pong,” a stupid word, but it did the job. I prefer to score with a more sophisticated bit of language, but a win is a win. As good a way as any to start the day.
The move had been arduous and slow. The young men in charge of my destiny on the way to my new destination were inclined toward many long breaks. I handed them a hundred-dollar bill on their way to lunch, and they were gone a full two hours. I mean it wasn’t enough cash for a three-course meal, so why were they gone for what felt like an eternity? I think it was a way of padding the time, extending the hours required to do the job, so that the company could extract the maximum charge. I did not have the energy to argue with them. It is a really hard job, and they did in fact move me, so I just coughed up the dough and tipped them fairly on their way out.
I would hate being one of the folks that move people for a living. What a hard job they have. Firstly, there is the whole moving heavy objects part, and going back and forth with box after box of people’s belongings. Then there is the stressed-out-customer aspect. Like cops and ambulance drivers, movers often experience people at their worst, teetering on their most jagged edge.
My housekeeper Maria Elena met me at the new place and began unloading boxes at an astounding pace. She is roughly my age, in her mid-sixties, but she has the energy and countenance of a much younger person. She is a diligent worker and a delightful human, her one peculiarity being the places she randomly decides to put things–items needed for everyday use on the uppermost shelves, with weird things taking center stage in the reachable ones. I just went with it. At least the stuff is out of boxes, and I don’t really have a handle on what goes where yet anyway, so I’ll just leave it be for now.
Gail, my dear friend of too many years to count, arrived with a whole chicken and some delicious wraps and sides. We all ate with our fingers, standing up. Gail found a teeny hors d'oeuvre fork and managed to eat coleslaw with it without dropping a strand. She is a woman of many talents. She tackled the wardrobe boxes and managed to put things away in such a reasonable order that they will most likely remain thusly placed.
The ladies worked with me until about 10 PM. I was, and still am, crazy grateful for their assistance. I kept working for another few hours until my body threatened to shut down. I was elated to find a face cloth that I could use to remove my make-up and some paper towels to dry off with. Good enough.
THE EGG CAME FIRST.
The next morning, I was delighted to locate a pan to cook with and made a big breakfast for my giant dog. He is no longer underweight, but he is not fully filled out either. Like most rescue dogs, he was in bad shape when we found one another. Life on the street had left him emaciated, and there was flesh missing from the tips of his ears where flies had feasted on him. I set about adding specific people food to his diet to increase his nutritional intake. He has mashed potatoes with yams and brown rice, plus turkey or salmon added to each 1 1/2 cups of high-end chow. Every morning, an egg is cooked for him. He likes them the same way that I do: over easy so that the yolk creates a sauce that pulls the whole meal together.
One of the things I like about traveling is the break in my routines. One has to make do with whatever is on hand and adapt to different products, and foods, and accents, and points of view. Changing one’s address can have the same energizing effect. I find it helpful to be reminded that I really do not need every product and convenience that I frequently use. I can get by with a cloth and a sheet of paper. I can make do with whatever cooking utensils are on hand. I can be at peace amid the chaos of boxes and mounds of wadded-up clean wrapping paper.
I know a lot of people who are just wildly averse to moving house. My sister-in-law Sarah swears that now that they are settled in, she will never, never do it again. I have a friend in Austin who has remained in a small condo for decades, when he could easily afford a different, more accommodating space. His partner has begged for a bigger kitchen and one more bedroom for the girls for years, but he is comfortable where they are and does not have an appetite for change.
I love the opportunity to explore a new neighborhood. To find great new paths to walk, check out new stores and restaurants. I deliberately take the long way to my appointment if there is time, so that I can see what is in the area. Two days ago, I cruised down Western Ave., which is not a particularly fetching roadway, but it is lined with interesting small shops and a variety of ethnic dining spots. I also discovered that it boasts a “Smart and Final …. EXTRA” store. I don’t know what that means, or what the extra is all about, but intend to check it out first chance I get.
Fairness and I have been taking different routes on our walks, discovering roads that wind around and then reconnect to the main artery. We have headed down to look at the small shops and eateries in Franklin Village. He is still nervous about all of the newness in our digs, but he is always willing and eager to get out and take a stroll. The one bone of serious contention between us in the new apartment is the ice dispenser in my refrigerator. The apartment came with an old, cruddy one, quite like the one I have endured for two years at my former residence. No way I am coping with that again. I went to Lowe’s and shelled out the big bucks for a souped-up version.
It is beautiful to look at and boasts side-by-side fridge/freezer compartments, which have enough shelves to space out all of the ingredients within, so that I can easily locate them … can actually see what is in each section. Veggies here, frozen meals there. Dairy on one shelf, jams and small condiments on another. The best feature by far, though, is the ice machine/ water dispenser that is built into the door. At my old place, I had to use plastic ice trays, my arthritic hands smarting with every thwack of the frozen top to try to reveal the treasured cubes. It was a torturous way to supply my quite serious ice-water habit. The new system is heaven. Just push the lever and voila! I have actually hugged this machine several times.
The dog hates it. Every time I put ice in my glass, he runs into the kitchen to see what disaster is upon us. He cannot be dissuaded from his belief that an evil monster lurks inside the freezer door. I have repeatedly shown him how the contraption works, have offered him ice cubes to eat and a sip of water, to no avail. He hates it.
The thing I love most of all about my new kitchen is the thing he despises with a passion. It’s never easy cohabitating with another creature, human or otherwise. At least in this case, we can eschew the dreaded “couples counseling” and just agree that I am the boss. I also buy and cook the food he eats, which is stored in the damnable machine, so he will have to learn to cope. I am the sheriff of this tiny, crazy, two-bedroom town, and that is just that.
Today is the first day that I will attempt to return to some of my routines. The step-counter is once again strapped to my wrist. I will head to the gym after finishing this draft. There will be no more frozen gluten-free pizzas or takeout Thai food for a while. I am going to cook proper meals and, hopefully, at some point get the laundry done. There is still much to learn about our new environment. I took a field trip to Albertson’s grocery yesterday. My Mom used to love the one in Huntington Beach, where I grew up. I was pleased to learn that there is one nearby. It was okay. I am not sure what Mom loved about it, but I got some good salsa there, so that counts for something. I will stop by on occasion in her honor, but it was not my jam. There are many more places to explore, many more …
But, at some point, I am gonna need a nap. All of this excitement is wearing me out.
On we go …
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